Firebreather
by coddiwomple
Summary: "Up in flames we go, you firebreather." [Marriage Law]
1. Prologue

_A/N: I understand that I currently have two other stories that are slowly being shuffled along. However, one cannot ignore the muse, particularly when it comes to an ADD person's muse. It jumps all over, you see. Terribly impossible to control. However, rest assured, I have chapter outlines for both Fire-Breather **and** Better Tomorrow. The outline for Fractured Meridians is going to be a little tougher to complete, given the amount of new characters I will be introducing, but it is also coming along nicely. Either way, I have not abandoned any of my Harry Potter stories. They will be completed, albeit slowly. _

_I also have two other ideas for HP fics brewing, so I cannot promise this will be the last whim I follow through on. I am far too impulsive. You understand._

 _I hope you all enjoy my writing and I look forward to your reviews._

 _\- Coddiwomple_

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling wrote the holy series. I am simply paying worship.**

* * *

 _ **PROLOGUE**_

Now bordering twenty-one, needing a haircut, and seriously lacking in proper sleep, Hermione Granger – now under the assumed alias of Jean Grimke – dusted her hands off on her apron. She had come to Italy, intent on blending in. She found the one café with the most English-oriented employees, got a job, chopped off a head of full-bodied curls to just under her ears, and got straight to work.

The weight of the unknown bore down upon her shoulders daily. She had more backup plans for her backup plans than she had during the war. Blending in, of course, was not that easy. Hermione was somewhat savvy with the language, but she was hardly a professional. Apparently, her beauty was what got her by on most days. Because she was young, lovely, and sweet in demeanor, many people gave her a break for fumbling over her tongue in broken Italian and poor accents.

Hermione had already surmised that she would only work here for a week or two, but the comfort here was too enticing. She was already pushing it, really. Three weeks meant a pattern. She avoided patterns at all costs. Next, she would be aiming for Amsterdam. If she should run into trouble too quickly, then she would aim for Japan, just in case _they_ were already aware of her next step. Perhaps she would even dye her hair black. The darkness never brought out her features very well, but it would be enough to keep her inconspicuous and unrecognizable. She had even tanned as much as she could so her paleness would not give her away.

"Closing up early, Luca?" Hermione asked, hardening her R's and L's so she would sound more like the American she passed herself off as. It was more difficult than she had originally thought, but in time, it was becoming easier. Occasionally, she forgot herself and used her original accent, which caused her to come up with the excuse that her mother had been British, and her father had been American. It was a horrible excuse. In reality, if that were the case, she would have only had an American accent, but Luca appeared more interested in calling her _bella_ than acknowledging where she hailed from.

"Si, _bella_ ," he replied finally, in his smooth tone. Hermione was already busying herself with bussing tables and turning off the 'OPEN' sign on the door. She could feel his eyes on her and though she was flattered, she shivered with the knowledge that a man so sweet had no business becoming tangled with the likes of her.

She was turning the lock on the door when Luca spoke again. He was a handsome man, pushing half-a-foot over her in height, which she appreciated. Hermione liked taller men. There was still a terrible language barrier between them, but Luca was sweet. Generous. Kind-hearted. Loyal. He longed for romance and love, where Hermione longed to stay hidden from the world. This was where she came to the painful awareness that he was completely out of her league. Settling down with someone was not on her agenda. Not until she found a way around her most pressing issue.

"I wonder, _bella_ ," he began, still wiping down the counter and the register. When Hermione turned briefly to face him, he had his attention on his work, politely keeping his gaze to himself. Ever the gentleman. "If you would have that… er… _date_ … with me. Friday, yes?"

In spite of the impending rejection she would have to put into place, Hermione smiled to herself. Cheeks tinted red and her breath hitched in her throat. It was not often that she was capable of staying in one place long enough to even garner a compliment from the opposite gender, let alone a date. There were no trysts, no kisses, no intimacy… Merlin, there wasn't even hand-holding. She never let it go beyond passing adorableness. It could not go beyond that.

Still, it was so painfully pleasant to be wanted, whether physically or intimately. She was never one to purposely seek out male attention, but she was, after all, a human woman. Wanting to feel wanted was an instinct – a part of her DNA. Love was not her main goal in life, but even the opportunity presenting itself – though it would never grow past infancy – was all she needed to keep a sliver of fire flickering dimly in her gut.

It had been so long since she had been wanted, even in a friendly manner. She was harshly reminded just then that she didn't have Ron and Harry. She responded to that reminder with a clenched gut and a chin pressing to her chest, missing them so terribly that her heart physically fumbled against her ribcage and refused to beat in regular rhythm.

"Every Monday, you ask me that question," Hermione said finally, forcing a small scoff to escape her lips as her head began to raise. "And every Monday, you know what the answer will—"

She froze. She fumbled harder. Hermione's jaw dropped wide mid-sentence and her tongue almost shriveled up and clawed back down her throat in her own fear.

She couldn't have seen it. She could not have been found already.

 _He_ could not have been here.

 _When in doubt…_ _ **run**_.

Ah, that little voice. The paranoid one that frantically forced her to bolt into action the moment things seemed even a sliver out of place. Her fingers were already fumbling with the string of her apron, jerking it open and ripping it off of her so quickly that the tie around her neck messed up her short hair, making it stick up on end. She could already feel her temples teeming with sweat. Fear was beginning to settle into her lungs, making oxygen painfully scarce.

 _Run. Run, run, run._

" _Bella_?" Luca prompted, his deep brown eyes now boring into her spine. Hermione abruptly turned away from the window to face him. Even with all the tanning she had done on the roof of her apartment building, she looked white as a sheet. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Luca looked confused.

She needed to make this quick.

 _Oh, for goodness sake, RUN!_

"I'm sorry, Luca, I have to go. I—I'm not feeling well." She had forgotten her American guise just then. It didn't matter now. "You can close up without me, can't you?"

Hermione did not even grant him a split-second to respond. She had grabbed her bag and practically vanished into thin air, towards the back door. It was the route she normally took to get to her car, but this getaway would require much more speed than anything an engine could provide. She heard the lock in the front door of the shop slam into its unlocked position. The entrance to the lovely little café had shot open.

Hermione had no time to regret leaving Luca alone in the wake of her troubles. In a mess of limbs, fresh exhaustion, and pure fear, she Apparated away from the scene with an intense _CRACK!_

Luca had dropped a dirty espresso cup. It shattered on the floor. He wasn't sure what startled him more: the fact that the entrance to the humble café appeared to shoot open of its own accord, or the deafening snap that rattled the very air near the back of the building, where Jean had disappeared. He had half a mind to dip down behind the counter and hide, but it was too late. Footsteps could be heard approaching, the lights were flickering, and since the entire front of the shop was made of breakable, transparent glass, hiding was a fruitless mission. He had already been spotted.

Once upon a time, Luca had enjoyed going to the movies every Friday night. He usually went for the _action_ or _supernatural_ genres. Whenever a scene would arise where someone was about to be attacked in a supernatural film, there were always outward elements that contributed to the fear of the moment. The music would intensify, a storm would be raging, or there would be loud noises jarring the main character to the point where they could not find the source. It was always deafening, and Luca attributed whatever intensity he might have felt to those elements.

Those beliefs were stripped away instantly as he was faced with the paralyzing sounds of silence. Goosebumps pricked along his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and the silence was so overwhelming that he could feel a cry of panic beginning to swell up in his chest. Nothing. _Nothing, nothing, nothing_. The summer air was dead on the street, the door that swung open had stopped twisting on its axis, now noiseless as it slowly swept through the air. Luca almost felt as though his sense of hearing was becoming more acute – almost inhuman.

Had he possibly heard the tapping of a pebble being kicked along the sidewalk? What about the clearing of a throat?

Luca had not even realized how hard his hand was shaking until he reached up to slide his fingers through his dark brown hair.

He jumped when there was another _CRACK_ through the air that ricocheted upon the surfaces of the other buildings, carrying both ways down the street. It sounded like thunder and the front lights of the café flickered a few times before going out. In the doorway, a tall young man appeared. Pale complexion, platinum blonde hair, and a deviously calm, sophisticated, and ultimately bemused expression as his cold, steely eyes raked along each surface of the humble café. Surely a storm had been coming. There was no way someone had the ability to just… _appear_ … like that.

Right?

The blonde aristocrat crossed the threshold of the place, crinkling his nose as he regarded the walls, the tables, the faded and chipped trimmings. Luca shrank against the back counter, as though he were attempting to blend into the backdrop like a chameleon. The blonde man had not even bothered to regard him, tightening his grip on the handle of what looked like a carved stick. Luca's eyes narrowed in confusion, awe, and fear. What on _earth_ was that thing supposed to be? Why had this man not said anything yet? What could he have possibly been looking for? Could this have to do with the sudden fear _Jean_ had expressed, or the reason she disappeared so quickly in the first place?

That swell of panic was beginning to burn the inside of Luca's throat, daring him to express concern, worry, fear, or pleas of mercy from a force he simply could not understand. Something was not right in this atmosphere and it made him feel so painfully… _helpless_.

"We—we are closed, _signore_ ," he managed finally, gulping rather loudly.

The blonde man spoke, but did not look at Luca just yet.

"I wonder if you can help me with something," the aristocrat began, ignoring Luca's statement. The head of white-blonde hair turned in a sinister and casual manner to face him. The coldness of the Englishman's countenance shot paralyzing chills up Luca's spine. "I'm looking for someone – a young woman. She would be approximately…" he held up his hand to mid-chest height for emphasis, "this high, slim, petite, brown hair, brown eyes…"

Instantly, Luca connected the dots. In spite of his fear, the inquiry allowed him to swallow down his nervousness. So this _was_ the cause for the _bella_ 's untimely and unfortunate disappearance. For whatever reason, she was running from this man. Judging by the state of the blonde's harsh, unyielding demeanor, Luca could not say that he blamed the poor beauty. She was far too warm to be trapped in a room with so much ice.

" _Bella_ ," Luca murmured, shaking his head. His own eyes assessed the blonde before him. In turn, the blonde aristocrat did the very same, practically sneering. Whether he was judging the pet name Luca had picked for her, the affection with which he said it, or the sudden protectiveness that flashed across Luca's eyes… Luca got the feeling that this blonde was now very far from the prospect of asking nicely.

"So you know who I'm talking about," the blonde stated, still sizing Luca up. "I was informed that she was working here last. Tell me… when was the last time you saw her?"

"The _bella_ was scared. She ran from this place a week ago," Luca replied, jerking his chin up towards his opponent and lying defiantly. The men were breaching similar heights. He was unafraid. "I have not seen her since."

The blonde scoffed, twiddling the finely-carved stick in his hand smoothly. He appeared more calm than any man Luca had ever seen in this position. Having the occasional break-in over the last few years, normally the criminals were a bit more skittish. Not this man. The aristocrat held himself like a man of power and poise. Even fidgeting with his wand, he was tenaciously relaxed. His expression, combined with the paleness of his flesh, made him look as though he were carved out of stone. The only things that brought his visage to life was a glittering mischief reflecting in his eyes.

And evil.

Heaps and heaps of evil.

Luca barely managed to suppress a shudder. The blonde tilted his head curiously at the stiffening of the shopkeeper's posture. He appeared to notice the full effect of his presence, but though the inquisitorial nature may have been on his face for a moment, he grinned in spite of it. The aristocrat's teeth were white, straight, and the canines appeared a little more jagged than usual.

No human being with such angelic features could have ever appeared so demonic.

"Is that so?" The blonde drawled, taking one last look around the shop.

There was a flick of the crafted stick in the air, and Luca felt a force drive into his chest, slapping his helpless body against the wall. Luca's world spun out of control. The air zapped from his lungs. By the time he had managed to compose himself, the aristocrat had appeared directly in front of him, pressing the tip of the stick to his throat. Though this would not have been threatening in any other situation, Luca could not stop the tremors of fear resonating through him from the action that had just taken place, nor could he desist sputtering curses of astonishment in his native tongue.

"Let's try this again," the blonde began, still eerily calm, but slowly adopting a sneer on his face. "Just over five feet, slim, brown hair, brown eyes… you've seen her. _Recently_." He placed an anvil of emphasis on the last word. Luca felt his throat constricting and could not figure out if it was because of his own terror, or because of whatever force it was that kept him pinned in place against the wall. "Keep in mind, should you tell me a lie, it will be the last thing you ever do."

Luca choked on his own words, too panicked to find the correct translation in English. He sputtered out something in Italian. The aristocrat applied more pressure to his throat.

"Say it slowly," he commanded.

" _Th—the girl ran. J—just now_ ," Luca managed in his native tongue, his adams apple bobbing in his throat rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. There was a look of satisfaction on the blonde's face, which only made Luca feel incredibly ashamed of his own confession. He had betrayed Jean. His heart began to sink like lead into his shoes.

"Thank you." And with that, Luca was dropped onto the floor of his shop, rubbing his throat and attempting to gather himself.

The blonde was heading to the door just as Luca found his courage.

" _The beauty_ ," Luca began, rubbing the ache from his neck as he watched the blonde stiffen. Luca staggered to his feet, staring down the white demon's head as it slowly turned in his direction. " _Why is she running from you? What is she to you?_ "

The blonde appeared to bristle at the mention of _beauty_. If Luca had thought that his expression could not have grown colder, the look on the aristocrat's face as he turned around proved otherwise.

Luca found himself unable to stop the onslaught as the blonde popped in front of him again. Twig brandished threateningly in his face.

"My _wife_ ," the blonde replied, staring down the shopkeeper intensely. Luca gulped, but he had no time to reply. The blonde murmured something that sounded like…

 _Oblivious_? _Obliviate_?

…

What was he doing, sitting on the floor? Why did his neck hurt?

Now alone in the café, Luca shook off his confusion and went to lock the entrance.

He had a movie marathon at home to get to.


	2. Town Crier, Village Flyer

**TOWN CRIER, VILLAGE FLYER**

Hermione found herself relating to Atlas, who hovered sky-high, teetering on the edge of the entrance of the central train station in Frankfurt. She had Apparated into a small crevice of an alleyway, out of range of any onlookers. The ability to move so quickly was limited. _He_ had the ability to track her magic rather well. Having narrowly escaped him for almost two years, Hermione could tell that her patterns were beginning to shine through. This was why she avoided patterns. Once again, she found herself tilting her chin up towards Atlas, right there at the very top, looming over her as if to say: _I know you share my pain_. Hermione felt a frown tugging at her lips as she disappeared along with the crowd, sifting through the entrance with her beaded bag in hand.

She would be on the first train out, aiming for Marseilles. Unfortunately, there had been some maintenance on the rails, delaying her train by approximately forty-three minutes. Brilliant. She had already bought her ticket, and only had so much money to spare. Hermione slumped helplessly into an open seat and looked deep into the ink of her printed ticket, frowning while her free hand toyed with the locket around her neck. It felt tainted. There was a ring sitting on the chain next to it. Princess cut diamond. She never liked flashy things. She was too humble.

The noises of the outer world began to fade away from her senses. The bench shifted as a muggle couple sat next to her. She stared off while dipping in and out of the fantastical and deadly pool of memories she held in the very back of her mind. Hermione was not trying to find out where it had all gone wrong. Oh, no. She _knew_ where it all went wrong.

* * *

 _"Oh, rubbish, Ronald," Hermione snapped, snatching the Daily Prophet out of the redhead's hands. Of course, the fool just had to go and ruin the moment. It was, after all, her birthday. Now he was talking about some rubbish like a marriage law? "Honestly, Kingsley would never-"_

 _She was cut off, going dangerously silent. Her heart had catapulted instantly into her throat. This was the first time she ever regretted having magic in her blood. Not even during the war had she ever wanted to throw her hands up, back off, and give out._

 _"But this is…" she murmured, frowning further. The Daily Prophet was slapped back down upon the table, as though she had been burned by the pages. "This is ridiculous! How dare they! Kingsley was ever forward about wanting people to have freedom of choice, muggleborns and purebloods alike. If we're so tight on witches and wizards, why not request the assistance of other communities outside of Britain? There **are** magical peoples outside of this country! What an absolute load of **fucking** rubbish!"_

 _There was a clanging of pots and pans in the sink and the Trio turned their heads up to Molly Weasley, who was looking over at Hermione with both shock and insult written all over her face. Hermione's cheeks grew redder than a beet and she shrank a little in her seat._

 _"Erm… sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I'm just so - so…"_

 _Molly's gaze seemed to relax just then, understanding, softening, and appealing to Hermione's frustrations. She wiped her hands off on her apron and silently made her way over to the table, scooping up the Daily Prophet. Her eyes skimmed rapidly over the words, widening with each syllable. She was practically crinkling the paper in her hand before she, too, slapped it down upon the table._

 _"Well. Clearly, someone will have to get in a word with Kingsley. Make him see that this is a horrible idea. All my children ought to have the option of marrying for love," Molly said finally, attempting to sound lighthearted. She had done so through gritted teeth, which only made her look incredibly feral. She nodded firmly in Hermione's direction, which lightened the little lioness' heart._

* * *

Hermione winced, missing Molly's scolding stare instantly. Hermione was not a person who cursed often, and even when she did curse, it always made her wince, because it sounded so vulgar and pointless. Her mother always said that there was never a reason to curse, and that the English language had a synonymous and vast sea of alternatives for a reason. Nonetheless, that very moment had infuriated her so terribly, she could not help but chuck out an 'F' phrase, which she felt perfectly applicable to the tension of the setting. She had forgotten, however, that Molly had been doing dishes the whole time, and had been standing no more than five feet away from them.

Even now, that 'F' bomb was building up inside her throat. It always did when she was backed into a corner with nowhere to go. _Proud of me now, mum? I've held my tongue thus far, but that word is pressing and pressing and pressing_ … she thought to herself.

How could she possibly get herself out of this scrape? Avoiding her fate meant going against the Ministry – against Kingsley. Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat. Her stomach sank deep into the soles of her shoes. Being married to Draco Malfoy would be horrifying enough as it was, but having to face the public ridicule along with it? Not that public opinion ever really mattered to Hermione, but the Malfoys were almost always in the papers. What would Draco be to the public eye now? The man who took in a criminal and nursed her into an acceptable member of society? Her blood boiled at the concept.

There was no lust or want involved when it came to Draco Malfoy stepping in to claim her as his bride. No prophetic trope, no outer force, no lust, no love. No. Draco's actions were driven by sheer, paralyzing need for vengeance. Hermione could only assume that it had to do with Lucius' sentencing to Azkaban, which she _may have_ had something to do with. By law, she was a witness to Lucius' actions and efforts to overthrow Harry and the Ministry. As much as Hermione did not want to testify against him, or get involved in the aftermath of the war at all, Harry and Ron had convinced her that it was for the best. Little did they know, they had put Hermione into the spotlight, allowed her to become a victim, and set upon her the fury of the one and only Draco Malfoy.

The two had inadvertently signed her up for a life of misery.

A part of her almost wished for something as simple as lust or desire, even a scrap of affection that she could use to appeal to whatever logic Draco might have possessed. They might not have been close enough as children for Hermione to read him very well, but if there was one thing she knew, it was that when the Malfoy set his mind to something, he would get it.

And he did. He got _her_.

* * *

 _"Kingsley, you cannot do this," Hermione said, shaking her head in disbelief. Much to her chagrin, Harry had been silent for majority of the conversation. Not that she could blame him. She had been babbling so much that it must have been difficult to get a word in edgewise. Nonetheless, it would have been nice to know that she was not fighting this battle on her own. "You have to give your people freedom of choice. This is absolutely barbaric!"_

 _"I understand your concerns, Hermione-"_

 _"You **understand my concerns** , do you?!" Hermione practically shrieked. Harry reached up to wiggle the ringing out of his ear with his index finger, wincing at the shrill tone. "You understand that I have to marry someone as repulsive and abhorrent as Draco Malfoy? You understand that, all my life, I had imagined marrying for love, and did not **ever** intend to put myself into a place where I would be forced to live a life of complete misery?"_

 _"Hermione-"_

 _"No! No, you do **not** understand, Kingsley! This is the most terrible, horrible, cringe-worthy thing I have ever experienced! And I fought through a bloody **war**!"_

 _Silence suffocated the atmosphere. Harry clenched his jaw. Of course, he wasn't saying anything. He had already married Luna almost immediately after the war had ended. The two already busied themselves with their own love, their own desires, their own personalities. They were a couple to idolize, really. Hermione almost hated that she had brought Harry into this office. She was growing more resentful of how good her best friend had it._

 _"This decision is final, Hermione. You, as well as everyone else, is bound by law to abide. I am sorry if Mr. Malfoy is not your ideal husband, but he was the only one who stepped up to take you as a wife. First come, first serve." Kingsley appeared far too cool and calm in his final words, raising his hands up as if to say: **you're outta luck, kid**. Hermione felt her spine stiffen. Eyes widen. _

_Surely, he didn't mean 'no'. Surely, he would help her, just like he had so many times, during the war._

 _Surely… surely **this** wasn't it._

* * *

On the eve of their wedding, approximately two years ago, Draco's vengeful transaction had almost been completed. Hermione had stuffed herself into the bridal suite, where she hid after she had been forced to endure a disgusting supper with Kingsley and Draco. All she knew was that she could not stop shaking, she was afraid, and she had no way out of this mess. She had been sick several times in the morning, and now she was staring Kingsley down, suddenly feeling as though he were a stranger to her. This was the man who had saved her and Harry several times during Voldemort's rise and his fall. It was astonishing to see him so cavalier about this medieval approach for repopulation.

Draco had locked her away after supper, though it was quite unsuccessful. Hermione had escaped with the help of Harry and Ron. Draco had been hunting for her ever since, normally with Aurors in toe. He had Kingsley and the Ministry on his side. Occasionally, Hermione would get snippets of the Daily Prophet, painting her as some devilish fiend because she had rebelled against the Ministry and left her husband at the altar. She was the demon and Malfoy was the innocent and wronged party.

 _Disgusting_.

Using magic was getting harder as well. Draco had found a better method of tracing it, which meant she needed to use it sparingly. That was why she had glanced warily around the passing crowd, waiting on a train to nowhere, just so she could take another train to nowhere, then Apparate again. Rinse, repeat. She would not be sleeping anytime soon, which was honestly a shame. She was practically falling asleep in her seat.

That was, until she had felt her shoulders stiffen. Had she seen it? A flash of blonde in the crowd? Had he already followed her here? Oxygen suddenly became incredibly scarce, making her heart seize. Her beaded bag was clenched tightly in her hand. Her body was tensing up in paranoia. Could she take the risk? Could it be him?

 _When in doubt, run! Run, run, run!_

Cursing to herself, Hermione took no chances. Money wasted. The ticket was crumpled and chucked viciously at the ground as she heaved into action. She thought she heard a bellowing overtop the crowd, but she ignored it. Her legs were weary, but she pushed all the same. Muscles screamed out in protest, her empty stomach threatened to overtake her with dry heaves. She sprinted hard in spite of her exhausted body, even going as far as to toss a few garbage cans in the way of her potential aggressors.

* * *

Hermione blushed hard, still able to hear the shouts of the crowd in that damn train station as they sprung out of her way. She was in France now, and had managed to take a train to a smaller town outside of the city. She would be alright for now - at least for one night of rest. Hermione now strolled along a cobblestone walkway, arms folded over her chest as she headed towards a humble inn at the far corner of the street.

Her purse was growing more shallow with each passing trip. There was a reason why she was making herself work. Paying for her livelihood was becoming more complicated. Eventually, she would have to go back on her moral compass and resort to thievery. Not that the concept was anything new, but stooping so low was not something she would be able to pull off for long. It might also require the risk of magic as well, considering that Hermione was never a talented pickpocket.

Her stomach growled and she glanced down at the left leg of her jeans, knowing that her wand was tucked neatly into her sock. She was considering another Apparation, but decided against it. The modest-looking B'n'B was calling out to her. Perhaps she could at least get one decent night of sleep.

"'Ow many nights vill you be staying, Madame… Edgars?" The young woman asked Hermione, peering down at the name on the card, and then back to the young witch.

It was really just a regular playing card, but it was bewitched. Hermione had taken precautions, changing the name on the card with every new place she went. Unfortunately, the magic on the card turned Hermione into a bloody homing beacon, so she could only use it for emergencies. She would have to discard the card tomorrow.

"Just for the night. Are the kitchens still open?" Hermione asked. The blonde Frenchwoman behind the counter nodded firmly.

"Oui! Zhey close in an hour, madame."

"Brilliant," Hermione murmured, tapping her fingers impatiently against the surface of the counter. Even though it worked, Hermione was always nervous whenever the card was used. She even breathed out a small sigh of relief when the payment went through and the young woman printed out the receipt, handing it to Hermione with a tight, but welcoming smile. Hermione took it with a nod.

"Enjoy your stay, madame," the woman sighed out before going back to her previous task.

Hermione did not respond, only climbing up the stairs towards her room. Twelve.

The room itself was humble, but welcoming. A double, four-poster bed, a nightstand, reading lamp, a small work desk, single shower… it would do. Hermione took advantage of the shower while she awaited the arrival of her food, even daring to bring her wand with her, though she kept it as dry as possible. She now went under the assumed name of Lenore Edgars. It was morbid enough, and somehow went along with the deep, ultraviolet-and-black tones of the room.

When she was out of the shower and fully dressed, there was a knock at the door, which made her freeze. Instantly, Hermione wanted to chide herself. She had spent the last two years, gradually laying brick on brick, building up walls around herself to the point where anyone who tried to find realness in her failed miserably. She approached the door and peered through the peephole, finding an unfamiliar face. She kept her wand tightly gripped in her hand as she reached for the doorknob. Already, she could smell the wondrous aroma of food seeping through the crack under the door, tempting her.

She prayed for a stroke of luck… and she got it.

Her food was just her food. The delivery boy was just a bloke who worked there. Hermione devoured everything she could get her hands on with eagerness, but was forced to stop halfway through. Her stomach had shrunk considerably. She would have to save some of this for her travels, which she did not complain about.

The night wore on, the food made her sleepy, and Hermione grew comfortable.

Growing comfortable was never a good thing, but she needed to rest.

Now it was time to put precautions into place. Perhaps the young, seemingly-bored desk clerk would be staring up at the ceiling when she heard the strange sounds of the nightstand scraping along the floorboards of the place. The lamp had been unplugged and settled upon the bed for the moment. The nightstand was shoved up against the door. The lamp, in turn, was stolen from the bed and balanced upon the very edge of the corner of the nightstand. Should anyone so much as make the contraption shiver once, the lamp would fall, shatter, wake her, and Hermione would have the chance to disappear… again.

The small chair sitting before the desk was dragged around to face the door, padded with the duvet from the bed. Hermione used all the spare pillows to give herself some support before she tucked herself in. She kept her sneakers on, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway. Once she was settled in, she watched the door and held her wand tightly in her hand. She sank into the fluffy pillows and never moved her eyes from the lamp teetering on the edge of the nightstand.

Against her better judgment, she fell asleep. The grip on her wand loosened and she passed in and out of consciousness for about an hour before she was completely dead to the world.

* * *

His long legs cradled the edge of the bed, bent at the knees, with bare feet set on the floor. There was a soft, sensual voice beckoning him back to the bed, where he had no intention of going. There was, after all, no rest for the wicked, and Draco was far too wicked to sleep tonight, especially with a stranger in his sheets.

Twelve seconds. _Twelve bloody seconds_! He had missed catching Granger by _twelve bloody goddamn seconds_!

Twice, technically. _Twice_ he almost had her. Twice, he had lost her. This was the closest he had been to getting his revenge in almost two years. The number itself was becoming most symbolic. Two enemies, two years, two _narrow_ bloody escapes. The universe was rarely so lazy. Now, Draco was staring into an abyss - also known as the floor of his generous summer home in Paris, still vibrating with rage. The need to dig his fingers into that _mudblood_ 's throat was growing much stronger in his gut.

He had trashed almost the whole summer home before he had gone out to search for more intimate release. He used the unnamed slag to trash the rest of it. At one point, she had complained that he was hurting her, but that hardly mattered to him. By the end, she was purring, just like the rest of them, encouraging him to come back. He was half-tempted to heed the call. Once he was married to Granger, he would not have this kind of freedom. Marriage in the wizarding world was much more final than it was when he was growing up. With the new law implemented, divorce was impossible, infidelity was prohibited, and rings were Ministry-made and charmed with various spells that were intent on keeping the couple perfectly imprisoned.

This was the price for vengeance, really. Draco had come to terms with his fate. As long as he was able to make Granger pay, he would happily take on the challenge of celibacy.

Or break her into a more intimate submission.

 _Either way, what bliss_ , he thought wryly to himself.

"Get out," he said finally, rising up from the bed. The woman lifted herself up, spattering him suddenly with a slew of French-tongued insults. He ignored her and sauntered towards the bathroom, finding a new sense of resolve building in his clenched fists. While she shouted, he slammed the door and locked it.

She would be gone by the time he was finished.

* * *

There was an incessant ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The girl was gone, the house elves had righted the summer home, and Draco was sitting idly at his desk, near the dead fireplace, sifting through a familiar book. His feet were idly propped up onto the surface of the desk. One hand held the book. The other held a glass of scotch. Rather fine, even for his tastes.

There was a flare of green flickers emerging from the fireplace and Draco was on his feet. His wand, which had been settled idly upon the desk, was now in his hand, ready to fling a curse upon the intruder. He could have sworn the wards around his summer home were much stronger than this.

He realized that the company was not entirely unwelcome and his shoulders relaxed.

"Goyle," Draco addressed the tall, burly brute with calculating eyes. "What an entirely unwelcome surprise." He turned away from the brainless monstrosity and poured himself another drink. "Care to make this quick? I was having a rather peaceful night."

The comment lingered in the air as Draco slipped back into his seat, now finely pampered, pressed, and dressed. Even in the middle of the night, he always looked impeccable. Pansy used to tease him that he would sleep in a suit if he did not toss and turn in his sleep. Draco countered that a bathtub was more likely to keep the suit from wrinkling.

Draco turned back to Goyle expectantly, who nodded in return.

"She's been found."

Draco's heart suddenly felt devilishly light.

* * *

 _A/N: I feel as though I must apologize for all the line breaks. I promise, there will be less jumping around after this._

 _I must say, I'm impressed to see so many people following this story when it's only two chapters old. Your responses are truly giving me a lot of hope and inspiration for this story. Thank you all so much for your unfailing support._

 _I look forward to all of your wonderful reviews._

 _\- Coddiwomple_


	3. Got A Skull and Crossbones On His Chest

**GOT A SKULL & CROSSBONES ON HIS CHEST**

 _Ron had bulldozed his way ahead of the crowd. Out of the three of them, he was the burliest, and therefore, the most capable of reaching the list. Hermione remained behind with Harry, who held her hand for comfort, squeezing it tightly as a sign of worry. She was equally concerned and had returned the squeeze in kind, keeping her expression firm and tight. Ron and Harry were hardly concerned for themselves. Harry was already married to Luna. Ron had little trouble with the prospect of marriage. The two men were concerned for Hermione's well-being, who she might wind up with, and how she would fare in a marriage in general._

 _Hermione was bold as brass, brave, courageous, but she had considered herself far too young to be married. She had her whole life ahead of her, so many dreams she had yet to accomplish. Now, just like a woman in the nineteenth century, she was expected to give up that life, bear a bunch of spawn, and give up on whatever it is she wanted to do with her life. She was expected to be a wife and a mother. She was expected to be **happy** about the service she was doing. _

_Seriously. She had traded war for **this**?_

 _Hermione lifted her head in timid attempts to see over the tall crowd. All to no avail, it seemed, but one little hop up into the air and she could see a head of red making its way back towards them. Ron had sifted through the crowd, angrily bulldozing a few people out of his path. They cursed at him, he cursed back and flipped them off, then kept moving towards his friends. He looked rather pale when he reached them._

 _"Well?" Hermione prompted._

 _"Well, I'm set to marry Lavender…" he trailed off, "seems as though she put herself first on the list the second she found out about the Law." He pointed almost accusingly at Harry for emphasis. "I told you that seein' 'er after that Greyback attack was a bad idea. Didn't I tell you?"_

 _Harry held his hands up wordlessly in surrender. "I'm sorry, mate. I didn't exactly predict this, alright?"_

 _Hermione brought Ron's attention back to her with a firm slap on his arm. "Damn it, Ron, just tell me! Who am I on the list for?"_

 _Ron's face went surprisingly red. His fists clenched, his head lowered, and Hermione could not tell if he was angry or thoroughly ashamed._

 _"Mm…mmf," Ron mumbled. She craned her head at the same time Harry did, trying to hear him better._

 _"What?" Harry asked before Hermione had the chance to._

 _"… Malfoy…" Ron managed finally._

 _Harry and Hermione stepped back immediately._

 _"What?!"_

 _"Wh—" She had begun to repeat Harry's question, but her spine met a broad chest abruptly. At first, she had whipped around to apologize, but once she had seen a smug smirk, a flash of platinum, and steel grey eyes, she no longer felt sorry._

 _She was no longer apologetic. She did not care for niceties._

 _She looked downright **murderous**. _

_"You…" she seethed._

 _"Hermione, no!" Harry shouted, but he was too late. Hermione had reared back instantly and shot a cold, hard fist directly into Draco Malfoy's nose –_

She snapped awake just then, sucking in a sharp breath. Reaching up, nimble fingers rubbed sleep away from her eyes and Hermione succumbed to morning paranoia, casting a sleepy gaze to the contraption ahead. Nothing appeared to be shifted or tampered with. Nobody was in her room. This was a relief, but it could have just as easily been a worry. Just because nothing had been disturbed did not mean nobody had been in the room with her. Knowing this, Hermione cast a small detection spell on the room. She found no traces of others sifting in or out of her room. Breathing out a sigh of relief, the witch appeared to relax enough to decide for a morning shower.

Birds were twittering outside of the closed windows, happily mocking her never-ending state of worry. There was a distinct sound of cars traveling slowly along the narrow street. It must have been a one-way. Hermione still kept her weary, wary gaze settled upon that blasted lamp, wondering if it would topple to the ground at any moment while she was naked and exposed in the shower.

 _Most girls worry about their outfit for the day, Hermione,_ she thought to herself begrudgingly while huffing and making her way towards the shower, _you're worried about battle tactics_.

Old habits die hard.

She had settled her wand and her towel on the counter of the bathroom before she turned on the shower and stepped inside. Eager to feel the hot water kneading heavily against her sore muscles. She had several cricks in her neck and shoulders from the awkwardness of that damned chair she slept in. She spent a good ten minutes kneading the muscles. Occasionally, she would let out a small, feminine grunt, or a gasp from the shock of a particular ache. She had eventually grown tired of the ministrations and allowed her body to soak in peace. The cricks would fade eventually.

Throughout her cleansing, she had decided to stretch out her arms, cracking her neck as much as possible to relieve some of the tension. Hermione took these moments to glance down at her body. Surprisingly more toned, thanks to war and running from marriage. She was also thinner, mostly because she had not eaten a proper meal since last night. Her legs were slim, but her thighs and rear were a little thicker, which she had always been rather self-conscious about. Her breasts were palm-sized, rather humble. She always found the idea weird that the small peaks of her breasts almost looked like paler, but ripe strawberries.

Her stomach growled at the thought of food and she decided that she would eat the last of her room service dinner before she left this place. There was no time to stay. She would need to be checked out before noon, keep running, and running and running and running…

Rinsing out her short hair, Hermione let out a huff of sheer frustration, stomping her foot lightly as she slammed her eyes shut and enjoyed the water a little more. If she could just stay here, in this moment, forever…

She forced herself to shut off the tap, slicking her short hair away from her face as she reached for her –

… _wand_ …

Where the hell was her wand?!

There was a vibrating silence in the room that closed around her, almost making a scream build up in her throat. Whether it was from fear or her own self-loathing, Hermione was unsure. Her shoulders sank and her head dropped backwards, dripping cooling water along her spine that did not have the desired effect in waking up her mind. A groan of pure, unadulterated frustration slipped past her lips, hating herself once again for her folly.

She had left her damn wand on top of her towel before she had hopped so blissfully into the shower. Almost perfectly, she could hear Moody's words ringing through her mind.

 _Constant vigilance, Granger!_

 _Oh, do shut up_ , her annoyed, three-hour-sleep rattled brain countered in annoyance.

Hermione drank in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She had come this far without an incident. She would just go out and get her wand. No big deal.

Her fingers reached up and grasped the blue plastic, wrenching it to the side…

Only to instantly regret her decision, let out a loud, staccato scream of terror, and shield her breasts with one arm and her nether regions with the other.

"Bloody hell, Granger," Draco drawled, reaching up to wiggle the ringing out of his ear with his index finger. His other hand was occupied with twirling a wand in his fingers. _Her_ wand. "Screaming is unnecessary."

His hand eventually dropped back to his side, but his eyes never left her. After all, how could he resist? He had anticipated catching her, but in such a vulnerable state? Never in a million years. Granger had evaded him for long enough. She had fought a new battle every year during her time at Hogwarts, then fought a war, then fought him. Draco never pegged her as a woman who underestimated her surroundings or predicaments, which was what had frustrated him the most. She was always prepared. Always one step ahead of him. Hell, he'd be damned if he didn't admit that a part of him admired her vigilance.

But now? Oh, now it was just too perfect. He had run over this scenario countless times in his head. The moment where he would finally – _finally_ – catch her. He had anticipated a good thrashing, perhaps a wrestling match. He had perfected his dueling skills just for this moment, knowing that she would have been a formidable foe. He thought that taking her down would not be easy.

In this moment of pure, serendipitous perfection, she had slipped up, made a mistake, let her guard down for a _fraction_ of a second. Right when he had Apparated into her room, he heard the shower turn on and the door close. He had snuck into the bathroom with an expectation that he would still have a wand brandished in his face when she stepped out of the shower.

Naked or not, he expected the final battle.

It was not until he found her wand laying idly upon the towel that he realized he had done it.

He had won.

He had _won_ , and he did not even have to _fight_ for it.

She was standing there, terrified and dumbfounded, in naked, dripping glory. And he watched, studied, savored… _admired._ A precious little flower, she was. A beautiful, tanned, fit beauty with nowhere to run. No means of defending herself, no way out, no hope. He could see every sliver of panic dissolving into complete and utter devastation. Her shoulders were slumping in defeat. Her eyes were watering. That full lower lip was trembling.

This moment could not have been sweeter if she had been presented to him on a silver platter with a _succulent_ cherry on top.

It had taken Hermione a moment to realize that the shower curtain would have to provide sufficient coverage for now. She rapidly reached for it, jerking it up towards her body. Draco merely chuckled at the feeble attempts of humility, keeping himself poised against the edge of the bathroom counter.

She would have to come out eventually.

"The man at the café in Italy…" Draco began, still admiring her wand as he twirled it tauntingly around his fingers, "he called you _bella_."

The statement lingered. She shifted awkwardly, trembling as she held the shower curtain against her body.

He could see why she was called _pretty_ before, of course. He might have hated every fiber of her being, but he was a man. He was human. Draco would have had to be completely blind to miss it. Petty blood status aside, Granger had adopted the term 'pretty' quite gracefully, blossoming around the time of the Yule Ball in their fourth year. She had always been pretty. _Bella_. Bookish; she was always buried beneath heavy robes of her uniform.

This had turned her into a proverbial _hidden treasure,_ really.

During the war, she was far too coated in blood and dirt for anyone to get a good look at what amount of _bella_ was beneath. Those muggle clothes really did not flatter her form at all, either. After the war, she was a ghost. There were only old pictures that they had to go off of while he was searching for her.

Draco let his gaze wander rather shamelessly. The towel was hidden behind his tall body. If she wanted any amount of real coverage, she would have to display a little bit of real Gryffindor bravery.

In spite of not being able to see anything, there were parts of the thin plastic that had begun hugging her curves. Sticking.

Could the shopkeeper at the café possibly have had a taste of her already? No, that was impossible, otherwise he would not have stuck to a nickname as generic and misrepresenting as _bella_.

Surely she knew that the peaks of her breasts held an almost delicious resemblance to pale, ripe strawberries. The water was obviously cooling upon her skin. He could see the tiny little bumps fashioning on her arms. Nipples pearling against the cold shower curtain. Curved hips, a perversely tantalizing and toned dip that ran along her tummy, a lick-able 'V' between her thighs. Golden, tanned skin. Freckles dusting her flesh, which was a little difficult to spot with the water trailing in defiant streams over her form. He almost hated the water for being so bold. Part of him suddenly felt horribly taunted by it.

Still. That red-and-gold courage was nowhere to be seen.

She was shaking, petrified. Mouse caught in a trap.

What was the muggle expression?

Oh, yes. _Deer in headlights_.

Whatever that meant.

"I'm beginning to think he was doing you disservice, Granger," he said finally, dragging his slate gaze back up to her own. She was bright red now, furious in spite of her fear. _There's the red_ , he mused with a growing smirk. "Unless… your little _friend_ never got close enough to the real thing to know the difference."

"Give me my wand, Malfoy," Hermione had tried to be brave. Really, she did. However, it was difficult to be so brash when he was the one with all the power. Her wandless magic, though practiced, was not exactly up to par. She needed more concentration and energy, and she was far too exhausted and panicked to attempt it.

Draco chuckled.

"You're in way too compromising a position to be making demands on _me_ , mudblood." Oh, he had been positively dying to use that term again. Inch by inch, the power was being handed back to him. Every moment spent in this position was diabolically perfect. _How about that, father? Hard work **does** pay off_, he thought to himself, casting a smug smirk in her direction. "If anything, you should probably be demanding a towel to protect your… _modesty_ … before you attempt to hex me."

"Fine, give me my towel then," Hermione countered immediately. Her voice was growing less formidable by the second. She trembled from the chill of being wet in the drafty room and her vocal cords were trembling.

In response, Draco slid his rear along the counter, revealing the towel just behind him. He made an almost extravagant sweeping gesture with his hand.

Hermione blanched.

"Y—you don't honestly expect me to get it myself, do you?" She squeaked. Just like that, she _squeaked_. All attempts at bravery had slipped through the window and she was as helpless as a fawn.

Draco laughed. He actually _laughed_. It rumbled through the bathroom, low and deep, washing over Hermione to the point where she felt like she was encased in ice. She shuddered visibly.

"C'mon, Granger, where's that Gryffindor courage you were so fond of two years ago, huh?" He was chuckling as he spoke. His voice was rich, smooth, and dark. Very much a representation of his lineage. His grin was as wicked as they come. Silver eyes twinkled with newfound mischief as he kept them steadily locked on her paling face. "You want the towel, come and get it. Nothing's stopping you."

"But, I—"

"But what?" Draco encouraged.

"I'm _naked_!" She half-shrieked, now gripping the shower curtain to her body with whitening knuckles.

Another low laugh spilled from his throat. He even reached up to cover his mouth as he tried to compose himself. Draco shrugged in her direction, half-laughing still as he said, "well, yeah, that's kind of the point."

The silence lingered between the two. Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times.

"You might want to make your choice quickly, though," Draco continued, his expression turning rather deviously intrigued. Hermione tilted her head in confusion. "You didn't honestly think I would come here _alone_ , did you?" She paled considerably. He was tickled even more. "Pretty soon, this place will be crawling with Ministry officials, dragging you into custody. Though you might be rather cavalier about your body right now, I doubt you'll be the same when you have the hands of several other men on you."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper red. Oh, that struck a nerve. It was probably the _cavalier_ comment that set her off. Mix that with a nice, accurate threat, and she was off.

Her shoulders squared, her jaw clenched, and she could _not_ believe she was doing this. She gave the shower curtain one last squeeze, as though mutely thanking it for its inanimate service, right before she boldly shoved it away from her body, revealing the rather bronzed, toned flesh behind the feeble barricade.

The witch hissed when she saw his eyes boldly begin to travel along her form, so she made the journey as quick as possible. She almost leapt over the edge of the tub and flew for the towel that rested just beside Draco. She had paused just for a moment when he shifted, but when he did not reach for her, she thought quickly and snatched up the humble mass of cotton, wrapping herself up quickly as his eyes never left her.

He made no move to catch her arm as she reached for coverage, though keeping himself entirely still took a heaping helping of self-control. The urge to make a move was strong, but he reminded himself that this was not about sexual attraction. This was about exploitation, revenge, and doing what his father was no longer mentally or physically capable of doing. In spite of that reminder, Draco would admit that she had certainly grown into a _woman_. Far stretch from _bella_ , indeed. Even though she had wrapped herself up in that small towel in a flash, he had seen enough to know that his plans for vengeance would have to be altered… _considerably_.

It would be difficult to wear a ball-and-chain with a woman like this and keep his hands entirely to himself.

Her right hip was still partially exposed from the smallness of the towel, but she clung to the fabric for dear life, tucking it under her arms to keep it in place. She white-knuckled the close with one hand while her other snatched at the air for her wand. Draco jerked it out of reach smoothly.

"Ah-ah," he laughed out. He playfully jabbed the wand in her direction, grinning when she flinched. "You think I would actually give this back to you? Let you hex me _again_ , like before?" Her mind flashed to the night she had managed to escape him. Her eyes flickered from the memory. "Get dressed. Quickly. They'll be here soon."

"Get out, then," she snapped, her cheeks still flaming.

Draco scoffed. "Not a chance, Granger."

"Then I'll stay as I am, thank you," she jutted her chin upwards defiantly. Malfoy laughed openly at her again, shrugging as he leaned back against the bathroom counter.

For once, he said nothing, waiting patiently for the realization to dawn on her. Once those Ministry officials poured in through the doors, she would have a lot more to be embarrassed about than just Malfoy seeing her naked. Hermione's right leg began to shake as her eyes flickered to the open door of the bathroom, frustration welling up inside of her.

Damn it, he was right!

She was down to two options: suffer through getting dressed while he never took his eyes off of her, or let the Ministry manhandle her until her towel came off. Knowing how furious Kingsley must have been after two years, she doubted he would give a sliver of care for her comfort levels. As long as the problem was solved and Malfoy got what he wanted, her personal space would happily be invaded.

She growled. She _actually_ growled.

 _Fiesty little lion, she is._

Barging past a laughing Malfoy, she emerged into the joined, cramped bedroom and got to work, tugging her clothing out of her beaded bag. This was done with a bit of difficulty, seeing as how her teeny-tiny towel did not seem to want to stay closed. She was almost certain that Draco was using his own wand to pull the feeble thing open whenever she wasn't looking. Soon enough, she had given up and decided to put her baby blue underwear and bra on as quickly as possible. Already, she felt more in control. The jeans and shirt were next. She tugged all assortments of fabric over her body as quickly as possible, choosing to ignore Draco's unshielded laughter. She did not even grant him the satisfaction of a glare. Not until she was wearing a black tank top, a thin, zip-up sweater that ironically matched her undergarments, faded jeans, socks and sneakers.

She held the beaded bag to her chest as she folded her arms over each other, positively fuming as she sank down onto the edge of the bed, glancing briefly over to the door.

Draco, who had been casually leaning against the frame of the bathroom entrance, still twirled her wand in his fingers as he pushed himself off the trim. He strolled along, casually regarding the contraption she had set up against the door. It was useless now, he thought with a smirk, but it was a little ingenious. Judging by the setup, the lamp was meant to be an alarm. The pillows and blanket set up in the chair meant that she had spent majority of last night watching the entrance to room twelve in complete and utter terror. Excellent. She was entirely aware that this had been the end of the run.

Occasionally, he could see her eyes flickering towards the windows, her wand, the door. She was attempting to calculate a last-minute escape. Her fingers tickled the beads on the bag. She was rather resourceful, but he knew she would not get far without her wand. The only reason she had been able to avoid him for so long was because of her magic.

"Don't make this harder on yourself, mudblood," Draco said, using the derogatory term with just as much nonchalance as he would in any normal conversation. It did not even appear to be an insult. It was just a statement of a fact. Hermione glared daggers at him, but he ignored it, hardly seeing anything wrong with his word-choice. "You're coming back to Britain, you may or may not face a trial, you'll marry me, and… well, look at the bright side—"

"Oh, there's a bright side to this?" Hermione snapped, her gaze narrowing viciously on him. _There's the gold_ , he thought. He could almost see embers flaring in her eyes. "What's the bright side, then? Being married to someone I hate, and to someone who hates me? Having no choice in my own future, or my own life?"

"How about getting a good night's sleep? Food, a home –"

"Spending the remainder of my days in torment. Yeah. It'll be a bloody _fucking_ peach," Hermione retorted, placing an almost intolerable amount of emphasis on the 'F' bomb she had just dropped. It obviously shocked Malfoy, because he seemed to snicker at her immediately after she spoke.

" _Ooohohoo_. Kitten's got claws," he drawled, his voice steeped in amusement. "Should have guessed you'd be the one with that Gryffindor courage, really. Even Weaselbee and Potty didn't have that much spine when you left."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" She snapped, her eyes going wide.

Draco had no time to respond. The aurors had apparated into room twelve before he could even taunt her with information. Kingsley headed the group of three, naturally. Hermione now found herself staring down his cold eyes with a firm, smoldering glare.

Soon enough, the former Lenore Edgars was wrenched from the edge of the bed and placed under arrest. Her stomach twisted in knots as she was zapped out of room twelve. Behind her, all hope was left. Where she was headed was a dead end.

 _A dirge for her, the doubly dead, in that she died so young._

* * *

 _Kingsley steepled his fingers together, elbows propped upon the desk. He even sat like a man with absolute power. Stern expression, flowing robes, blank, dark eyes, and an aura of complete influence. Draco hardly cared, sitting across from him in silence with a blank visage. The man was an absolute nutter, really, but it was of no consequence to the pale, blonde aristocrat. He was here to seek out his own needs, not fight the power like some bleeding-hearted Gryffindor. He wanted what he wanted. Kingsley could give that to him. At this point, he was more bent on revenge than he was on any sliver of supposed morality._

 _What **was** morality, anyway? What **was** doing the right thing? Draco was here to look out for the interests of his family. Was that not, in some way, justified? _

_"I was very sorry to hear about your mother, Mister Malfoy," Kingsley began. Draco did not flinch. "I was not aware that your father's sentence would take such a toll on her. As I promised you before, at the funeral, any services you might require from the Ministry will be at your disposal in these troubling times."_

 _The blonde remained completely still, as though any sudden movements would have him eaten alive._

 _"That's actually why I'm here, Minister," he said finally, leaning back to lounge casually in his seat. "Now that the Law has been passed, I've decided to come to you personally to ensure that my… wedding plans… go smoothly." Draco almost wanted to cringe at his own words. The idea of marriage had been a part of his upbringing. Arranged marriages were the norm. However, he had always thought he would be marrying to ensure the purity of the bloodline. Now, he was sullying it. For the right reasons, of course, but the idea would still take some getting used to._

 _"So you've chosen a bachelorette, then," Kingsley replied. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Congratulations. Who is the lucky lady?"_

 _"Miss Granger, sir," Draco responded coolly._

 _Contrary to Kingsley's original personality – which was far more respectable – he appeared thoroughly pleased with the statement. The Minister leaned back in his seat, nodding along in understanding. The man used to be so honorable, Draco mused to himself. He almost wanted to laugh at Kingsley. It was outstanding, how power could corrupt a pure heart. Once upon a time, the old Kingsley would have battled this statement with all his might. Hell, once upon a time, the old Kingsley would never have enacted a law like this in the first place. Now, here he was, sitting pretty on a throne, quite pleased that Hermione Granger was getting a proposal at all._

 _"She would make a very fine wife. I will admit, Mister Malfoy, you do have impeccable taste," Kingsley said finally. Draco couldn't stop the smirk that appeared on his face._

 _"I could not agree more, sir," the blonde replied._

 _"Am I to assume that Miss Granger is already aware of this union?" Kingsley asked._

 _Draco shook his head. "No, sir. I intended for it to be a… surprise. You understand."_

 _"Of course," the Minister for Magic nodded along slowly, considering the option. Surely, it would send Hermione into a downright fit, but he still felt obliged to accommodate the youngest – and last-standing – Malfoy before him. This was a young man who had supported him in office, proved his loyalty, and had just lost his mother to something as abhorrent as suicide. Surely, Kingsley could give him the bride of his choosing as a gift. "If I were to oblige you, Mister Malfoy… I would like for this to be an offering of peace between the Ministry and the Malfoy family. The Malfoy family has, of course, offered me outstanding support, and I do feel terrible for your father's fate in Azkaban. Would it be possible to consider this marriage with Miss Granger to be a… compensation for your losses, so to speak?"_

 _Draco nodded stiffly. "Of course, sir. I would anticipate nothing less."_

 _Kingsley grinned widely in response. "Then it's settled. I will alert the handlers of the lists immediately." He stood just then. Draco mirrored the movements. Both men shook hands firmly in agreement. "Congratulations again, Mister Malfoy. I should hope to see you finding a rather fine position in the Ministry soon enough."_

 _"Minister," Draco said firmly, with faux respect. Their hands dropped away and Draco saw himself from the office, unable to hide his grin of triumph._

 _Finally, something was going his way._

* * *

Luna greeted the morning with a bright smile and tingling sensations. A strong hand wrapped gently around her bare hip, gradually turning her onto her back. The whimsical girl succumbed to the flow with a dreamy sigh of excitement. Apparently, Mister Potter had been using her subconscious arousal to wake her, urging her from her sweet dreams with his own sensual ministrations. There was a ticking time bomb in her abdomen, preparing to burst the moment he touched her. Once she was on her back, his precious mouth fastened on expertly to whatever pieces of her he could reach. His hands touched the rest, occasionally cupping her face and kissing her, just like he had so many times before.

He made her swim in stars.

"Have I been asleep this whole time?" Luna breathed out, letting her slim, tiny fingers tangle into his messy hair while he began devouring her body in intimate kisses. Even her moans were gentle and soft, just like the rest of her. Her wild, white hair tumbled around her body, making her look delicious. Like angel cake. His mouth trailed lower. "That seems terribly rude of me."

Harry released a low, gravely "mm" against her supple skin, which shot excited shivers up her spine. He was always very primal and less talkative in the mornings.

His lips fell to the inside of her left thigh, slowly coaxing her knees further apart as he began to travel back up… and up… and _up_ …

Her sweet sigh upon the initial contact was enough to send him into more of a blind frenzy. Those same strong hands guided her legs over his shoulders, not caring if her heels dug into his spine. He liked how she moved anyway. Wanting to take his time this morning, he began reciting the alphabet with his tongue.

A… B… C… D…

Another dreamy moan. Her little fingers tangled appreciatively in his hair. He felt her body heat rising. She twisted harder. He kneaded her thighs appreciatively, ready to lock an arm over her tummy to keep her still. She always became more restless when she was approaching that delicious end.

E… F… G…

 _BANGBANGBANG!_

H…

"Harry!'

 _Oh, bloody hell._

Harry growled at the sound of Ron's voice from outside the room. Kreacher must have let him in… _again_.

Luna released a timid gasp when his teeth grazed a sensitive part of her. Her fingers flexed in his hair. He couldn't pull away.

"No…" he bit out in sheer, sexual spite, diving his head almost desperately back between his wife's legs and clamping his mouth on her skillfully once again. Her little sigh of contentment urged him forth. His fingers almost bruised her thighs from his desperation to keep her in place.

I… J… K… L…

 _BANGBANGBANG!_

"Harry, come on, open up!" Ron shouted again.

Harry only responded with yet another deep-seeded rumble, making her thighs tremble from the effect as his tongue thrust up roughly. Luna's precious fingers flexed again in his hair and her hips twisted in pleasurable response.

M… N… O… P…

"Harry…" her sweet voice called out to him, but it was perfectly broken under his influence. She was getting close. She always _sounded like that_ when she was getting close. "He sounds rather… rather frantic, don't you think?"

No time like the present.

Harry effectively dragged his tongue upwards and put two fingers of his right hand to better use. If he had to end this session early, he would at least make it memorable. He plunged in, utilizing his thumb against the bundle of nerves she found so sensitive while he flashed his bright green eyes at her and planted a kiss and a nip on the inside of her thigh. His gaze glimmered with mischief, never once straying from her face as it contorted with beaming, bright passion.

"Funny, I could say the same for you," he drawled in his usual quirk. Luna's head had tossed back against the pillows. Her little toes curled. Harry maintained the motions, fixing his mouth onto her right when he felt her clenching around his fingers. Then came the precious finale.

X… Y… Z…

He could hardly hear Ron's persistent knocks while his wife was overcome with pleasure, writhing out the last of her climax. Her hips bucked fervently against his fingers and he was reminded that he wanted nothing more than to finish what he started. Start the morning off good and proper, like he usually did.

The knocking proved that his task would be impossible.

"Harry, hurry up and get out here! He found her, Harry!"

The boy with bright green eyes and jet black hair froze. Luna's eyes became more aware as she settled her gaze upon him. Like all other times he had been called away from her, she smiled and brushed his messy hair out of his face, accepting that her bed would be cold for a little while longer.

"You should probably shower first, Harry Potter," she said in her pleasure-distant tone, blinking sleepily down at him. Harry tried to ignore the painful stiffness of his desire as he crawled back to sit on his haunches, raking his eyes in sad longing over her breathless form. "Hermione would want you to look presentable."

* * *

 _"Kingsley, this is insane!" Harry's hands flailed in the air. His hair, which had always been a mess, was practically standing on end. Ron, who sat next to him, was stiff as a board, judging Kingsley blatantly with bright blue eyes. "It's bad enough to enact a marriage law, but to subject Hermione to this is unfair! You might as well be sentencing her to Azkaban!"_

 _"Miss Granger fled her post, Harry, there's nothing I can do. The law clearly states that should a witch or wizard run from this, they will be held on trial when they are found." Kingsley was almost irritably calm, acting as though he had thousands of aces up his sleeves. Harry was breathless in his seat._

 _Ron slammed his fist on the desk. "You can't do this to 'er!" He shouted finally. Blunt, enraged, practically shaking from his own temper, Ron stood abruptly. He had his fists on the top of the desk and was staring Kingsley down. Hard. "She's our friend, Kingsley. You remember the war. Where would Harry and I be without her? And this… this is how you repay everything she's done for you? For the wizarding world? You repay her by making her marry **Malfoy**?" _

_"Touchy, touchy," the voice said at the door. Harry and Ron almost hesitated in turning around. They knew that damned voice. Draco paused before he shut the door. "Shall I come back another time, Minister?"_

 _"Not at all, Mister Malfoy, please come in," Kingsley waved in the blonde calmly. "I called you here for a reason, after all."_

 _Draco nodded, suppressing a smirk as he shut the door softly behind him. Now, the four men stood. Tension increased in the air by the second. It was all barely breathable. Draco was living for it._

 _"You wouldn't know where she ran off to, would you, Potter?" Draco drawled finally, earning himself a glare from the Dynamic Duo. Of course, the question was ironic. They clearly had everything to do with her disappearance. "From what I understand, you two were the last to see my illustrious bride-to-be the night before the wedding."_

 _"We were there for moral support," Harry retorted through gritted teeth. "She seemed to be in hysterics **for some reason**. Kept going on about how she would be charged for bestiality because it's illegal to marry a **ferret**." _

_Draco glowered. Harry smirked sardonically._

 _"Tragic," the Malfoy tsked as he moved to stand next to Kingsley's desk. "I would hate for Granger's best friends to be locked up in Azkaban before she can even walk down the aisle. You would've loved to see the dress I picked out."_

 _Ron's nails were digging into his palms now._

 _"It would be a very serious offense, should you have aided her in escaping, Harry," Kingsley said, still sounding as wise as he did during the war. But there was an air of corruption around him now – one that unnerved Harry enough to give up on everything he had worked so hard to obtain in this world. "You would lose your jobs, be sentenced… punished. Your reputation would be ruined."_

 _"I'm starting to think that might not be a bad idea, really," Harry replied instantly. Before he could second-guess, before he could stop himself, he removed his auror badge and placed it on the desk._

 _Kingsley chuckled. "Harry… that's not going to sway my decision. Miss Granger chose her fate—"_

 _"And now I'm choosing mine," Potter shot back, glaring hard between the Minister and the Malfoy. "Good day… **Minister**." _

_Ron had stood along with Harry, but did not turn in his badge. Unlike the Chosen One, Ronald Weasley had far more to lose. The income from his job fed his welfare. He was finally getting back on his feet. He would have to fund a honeymoon soon. Harry said nothing more and Ron followed him out._

 _"I recommend keeping a close eye on Potter, sir," Draco encouraged, still managing to hide his triumphant smirk._

 _"I could not agree more, Mister Malfoy," Kingsley drawled, steepling his fingers together with his elbows on the desk, as he usually did when he was deep in thought._

 _The man was a nutter, but hell if this wasn't **fun**._

* * *

 _A/N: Alright, so maybe the jumping around isn't quite over yet. I really enjoy flashbacks, in case you haven't noticed._

 _I must also apologize for the abrupt ending. It's all leading up to the scene of Hermione's return, which is likely going to be lengthy enough. I figured it deserved to have its own chapter._

 _Thank you all again for your support. I look forward to your reviews and opinions._

 _\- Coddiwomple._


	4. I Can't Resist When He Looks Like This

**I CAN'T RESIST WHEN HE LOOKS LIKE THIS**

Hermione remembered when his eyes were kinder. She remembered when he would pat her shoulder, look at her, and tell her that all she needed to do was be strong. War had seemed impossible to fight through, but with the help of her most trusted friends, she was able to at least develop enough strength to fight on. Now, majority of the Order was dead or dormant. One of its former members now stood at the pinnacle - a proverbial King of the Castle. Kingsley ruled the mountain top that was the wizarding world in Britain and he was doing it all with an iron fist. His rules and decrees were medieval and outdated. Hermione had held much higher hopes for the wizarding community after the war. What a mess.

Hermione remembered when Kingsley's patronus had appeared at Bill and Fleur's wedding, warning them to run. The enemy was upon them, they were in danger, and Kingsley had taken the chance to let them know that war was going to arrive on their very doorstep in mere, measly moments.

That was the Kingsley she remembered.

What had happened to this man?

The Kingsley before her looked thinner, gaunt and unhealthy. Oddly, this gave him a more terrifying presence. To the point where Hermione could not find the ability to utter a single syllable. She was completely frozen. Fear and rage were alive and thriving in her empty gut. Kingsley's eyes never left her. Hollow, although he put on the demeanor of care. The two were sizing one another up, never once dragging their eyes away. Kingsley's gaze haunted her, and Hermione murdered him with her mind over and over again. He had his fingers tapping together at the pads, clearly deep in thought as he studied her. Hermione's frame was completely rigid as a result.

"Why did you run, Hermione?" Kingsley had asked, to which she said nothing in response. He knew why she ran. He had known she would run the millisecond she had begun raising a stink at the Ministry two years prior. Asking would only lead her to say things that he could use against her later on. Possibly during her 'trial', which she was still waiting to hear about. "Two years… two years, your fiancée spent looking for you." Another pause jabbed at the hopelessness in her heart. Hermione did not respond. He made it sound so… romanticized. "I must commend Mister Malfoy's ambition. Certainly a testament to his house's traits."

Hermione was cursing him mentally, but still never uttered a syllable. Kingsley was testing her boundaries. He wanted her to snap, to break, to shout, to scream – _anything_ that would allow him leverage.

Astonishing. _This_ coming from a man who had advised her on how to withstand interrogation so long ago. During the war, Hermione had listened hard to the advice of Moody, Lupin, Kingsley, and various other superiors who were battle-tested, battle-trained, and battle-ready. She had practiced and put into effect her lessons. It had helped her withstand Bellatrix's interrogation.

Did Kingsley actually anticipate that she would break now?

He sighed, pushing himself up from his seat and rounding the table. They were in an interrogation room at the Ministry. Hermione could tell from the overwhelming, hard, and dark colors of the tiles. Maybe somewhere near the Department of Mysteries, considering the cool temperature. She could only assume they were in the basement. Kingsley stooped down to rest before Hermione, balancing on his haunches as he looked up at her with an honest gaze.

He would try to appeal to her softer side now.

"You don't have a choice here, Hermione. I beg of you to reconsider your silence." His tone was deceivingly kind. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him through her messy hair, which had dried and had not been styled, so it hung, short and wild, around her face. "I would hate to see one of the wizarding world's heroes wind up in Azkaban for something as silly as not putting a ring on her finger."

Hermione reacted instantly, gathering up a wad of spit in her mouth and spattering it upon Kingsley's cheek in complete and utter defiance. At first, he had not moved. He merely snapped his eyes shut, accepted the blast of saliva, and nodded once. She tried not to listen to the sigh that came through his nose, the swishing of his colorful robes, or the lone cough he gave to clear his throat. A singular, curt nod, as though he understood the stance she was taking. Eventually, he had lifted himself to his feet and used a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the residue.

He had opened his mouth to say something else, but the door had burst open.

Hermione's eyes snapped to the source of the interruption, watching with disbelief as Harry and Ron merged into the room. She had not even registered that she was in Britain yet, let alone that she would be seeing her best friends so soon. She peered at them, her eyes went wide, she blinked and began to sputter something.

She was cut off.

Harry's arms slapped around her shoulders, grappling her in a tight, loving hug. Unfortunately, the chains around her wrists stopped her from returning the adoring embrace. Instead, she buried her face into his neck and inhaled deeply. His scent was fresh. Showered. Spicy and musky. She closed her eyes in appreciation, wanting nothing more than to bleed into this moment and never resurface in reality.

Ron was not far behind, although he was gentler in his approach. He held her softly to his broad chest, stroking the back of her head idly while he planted a kiss atop her head.

"I… I like your hair," the redhead said finally, causing Hermione to breathe out a small laugh in response. It was dry and without humor, but it was there.

Kingsley cleared his throat again and shifted on his feet. The reunited Trio turned eyes upon him, adopting glares simultaneously.

"You have five minutes," he said to the three as he exited the room briskly.

Hermione sighed heavily, letting her resolution drop the moment they were alone. "Harry… Ron… neither of you should be here right now." She shook her head for emphasis. She was signing herself up for Azkaban. Her best friends should not have had to see it. She tugged rather helplessly on her chains, which rattled and drew attention. She hated looking so helpless in front of them. "Kingsley… what _the Devil_ happened to him?"

"Power," Harry responded, pulling up the chair Kingsley had been sitting in. He took up a seat next to Hermione. Ron leaned his rear against the table, folding his arms neatly over his chest. "He's not who he was, Hermione. He's… he's changed."

"I can see that," Hermione scoffed out, still riddled with disbelief. "I'll be shipped off to Azkaban if I don't agree to this, Harry. It's like trading one life sentence for another. The fact that he even allows that, it's… it's absurd."

Silent looks were traded between the Trio. It took her a moment to fully register the countenance the Chosen One wore. Harry appeared solemn, but encouraging, and Hermione knew precisely which direction he would take the conversation. Gradually, her own stare turned deadly, warning Harry not to say anything that might condemn him.

"Hermione, I-"

"Harry, you cannot _seriously_ be asking me to go along with this. Whatever happened to helping me escape? What, you did that just to change your mind now?" Hermione hissed, keeping her tone low, as though someone might have been listening in. Of course, with everything happening, she would not have been surprised if some nosy little rat had been pressing their ear to the door.

"Hermione, you disappeared – just like we agreed, obviously, but… you disappeared for two years. I was worried enough, not knowing where you were, but… but Azkaban? You'd take Azkaban?" He shook his head, visibly hating himself for even suggesting her taking the alternative. As he silently assessed either option, he cringed. Neither were exactly _living the dream_ , but he had seen the effects of Azkaban. If they that hellish place had been enough to turn someone like Lucius Malfoy to a bumbling, blubbering fool with a decaying psyche… what would happen to his best friend? "I'm not telling you what to choose, really, but… just… just _think_ , alright?"

" _Think?!_ THINK?!" Hermione shook her head, almost wanting to kick her feet against the floor and move herself away from Harry and Ron. He would have followed. He always did. Besides, the bloody contraption was bolted to the floor. "Let's see, on one hand, I have the opportunity to live a life of misery with Malfoy, OR live a life of misery with dementors. How will I _ever_ choose?"

"Hermione, at least with Malfoy, you have a chance to stay sane." He paused briefly, turning his gaze up to Ron, who silently held his hands up in surrender. A mocking gesture that placed the redhead on the fence. When Harry's gaze turned into a stony glare, Ron rolled his eyes. "I get that it's not ideal, alright?"

Hermione snorted.

"But Hermione… you're my best friend," Harry reached out, linking his fingers around hers with gracious gentility. Her honey brown eyes clashed fiercely with emerald, but she found herself unable to remain numb for long. She missed looking at him. "I'm not asking you to give up, but… if we're going to fight… if I'm going to find a way to bring you out of this…" he frowned, visibly putting himself through torment at the mere suggestion, "then I need to know that there will be something to… to _bring out_."

She stared at him for a long moment, her hard visage gradually softening as she realized the weight of his argument.

"Hate to say it, 'Mione, but… man's got a point," Ron finalized, looking at her solemnly. "We won't stop fighting for you, you know that, but you at least need to be safe while we're doin' it."

She was still silent as they stared on, waiting for her response. Bile was beginning to rise up in her stomach at the idea. Lose her mind in Azkaban, or lose her mind with Malfoy? Every alternative was slipping through her fingers, just like her life… just like her well-being. Already, she could feel herself going crazy.

"I… I'm sorry, Harry—"

The door opened once more.

 _Speak of the bloody Devil…_

Draco loomed in the doorway, prim and proper as ever, regarding the scene with suave indifference. Ron had pushed away from his spot against the table, protectively standing in front of Hermione. Malfoy appeared unimpressed, wrinkling his nose at the sentiment. He strode into the room and motioned casually to the exit.

"I'd like a moment alone with my _fiancée_ ," he said, placing specific emphasis on the last word, which made Hermione practically hiss at him. Her jaw clenched to the point where she was certain her teeth would shatter in her skull. Perhaps the shrapnel would somehow explode her head in the process.

 _Wouldn't that be a blessing_ , she mused.

"Kingsley said five minutes," Ron retorted boldly.

"And it's _been_ five minutes, Weasel. I understand that I might be reaching in suggesting this, but try _counting_ next time. It might do you some good." Draco's tone was just as distant as his demeanor, although his silver eyes flashed jagged when he addressed Ron. Years of nurturing his loathing for the Weasley family ensured little to no civility on his part.

Of course, Ron was no different. It was difficult to remain civil when he was clenching his fists like he was ready to punch Malfoy square in the face. Hermione briefly thought back to the times of yore, when Ron was unabashed and unafraid to tackle Malfoy into the ground and start laying fist-to-jaw. What she would give for that childishness to resurface.

"Ron," Harry stated as he stood, clapping a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "It's not worth it."

The Weasley hardly relaxed, but he seemed to become malleable enough where Harry could guide him from the room.

Draco watched them abandon ship with an amused twinkle in his eyes, clearly pleased with himself. Had the redheaded ape even taken a swing, the blonde would have had his job quicker than he could say 'Quidditch'. Malfoy crossed over and gently pushed the door shut, then moved on to grab the chair next to Granger. He shuffled it out, but only by a pace, gracefully sliding into the uncomfortable seat. He made himself appear relaxed, slouching nonchalantly to the point where his knee was lightly grazing hers.

She jerked away, as though burned by the contact. He smirked wickedly in triumph.

He had never been the type to force himself on a woman. Why put in all that effort when there was other, willing flesh about? Besides, he already had it in mind that he would be able to sway her into his bed of her own accord. All he needed to do was find the right buttons to push. Now that his plans for revenge were gradually being altered, he had decided during the trip back to Britain that if he had her at all, it would be much more satisfying to have her begging for it. Taking her was too simple – too barbaric.

Although, the fact that she had a fear of it was incredibly entertaining.

"How much do you remember of the Marriage Law, Granger?" He asked.

That caught her attention. She looked up at him, but did not respond. Draco actually found himself enjoying this stoicism. It made her outbursts all the sweeter.

"Things have changed since you tucked your tail between your legs and ran off. Recently, some things have been added. For example…" he shuffled his chair a little closer. Hermione's seat was bolted to the floor, so there was no option to move away. He pressed his knee boldly against her inner thigh, then relaxed in his seat. She went wide-eyed and paranoid. He liked that. "Should a witch or wizard shirk their responsibilities or refuse to participate in the marriage prescribed to them, then after a certain period of time, the Ministry will collect on that witch-or-wizard's next of kin to take on the punishment. If I'm not mistaken – in your case – that would mean your parents… wouldn't it?"

Her eyes became suddenly defiant, which he had expected. Her chin jutted out in resolve. She tossed her wild, short hair out of her face.

He quite liked her with short hair.

"As if you'd be able to find them," she snapped back, proud of herself. For once, she was happy that the reversal of her memory charm was unsuccessful.

"You mean in Australia?" Draco asked.

Just like _that_ , her resolve crumbled. Fear etched slowly upon her face. The blonde aristocrat in front of her seemed over-the-moon in his triumph. Her world was beginning to crumble around her, slowly but surely. This meant nothing, right? She was still going to lock herself away in Azkaban, right?

… Right?

"I must admit, I'm a little confused, Granger." He leaned forward in his seat just then, looking down briefly at her knee. He thought about tickling the cap with his fingers, but decided against it. She was stiff enough just with him being so close. "See, I was always under the distinct impression that you would do anything to protect your family. Yet, here you are, signing yourself over to dementors and Azkaban prisoners… leaving _them_ to suffer for you. And what's worse… they won't even know _who_ they're suffering for."

The tears weren't there. They were _not_ there!

"It seems like a small price to pay, doesn't it? Marrying me to keep them safe." He may have appeared genuine, but it was all tactics. She knew precisely what would happen when she succumbed to that terrifying will. The coercion would drop away and she would be dragged from one prison to another. Still, it never stopped the stinging in her eyes. Droplets fell onto her thin sweater. She shuddered. He grinned. "Come on, Granger… even I know you're not _that_ cold. You're not like me."

Her eyes met his just then, feigning confusion. He stared her down, now with a stone-serious veil that made her frigid.

Her shoulders slumped and he knew then that he had won, but he wanted to hear her say the words. Two years of chasing her and body language was not enough. He wanted the words, the written confessions, he wanted her to sign in _blood_. The silence almost deafened him, but he managed to tune out everything else, focusing his attention on her parted lips and the short, staggered breaths that came through their soft, supple gates.

He wanted to remember exactly how her mouth looked when it wrapped around the syllables of 'surrender'.

"Fine," she muttered.

It still wasn't enough.

Draco snapped a hand out, grabbing a fistful of her short hair just so he could angle her head to his liking. Once they were a good deal closer, he looked down at her without a scrap of mercy.

Two years of chasing this woman down, driving himself insane with revenge, only to miss her again… and again… and _again_ …

No. One word was hardly enough. He was a priest and she was the bloody confessor.

 _Spill your guts, Granger, I've waited long enough_.

"Fine, _what_?" He bit out, still keeping his gaze locked on her mouth, waiting for the pink petals to form the words he needed. By now, his knee had slipped from against her thigh, digging into a familiar heat at the apex. What a vulnerable state she was in, indeed. Exposed, raw, and all with the sweetest words on her trembling lips. He could feel her tensing and wiggling in the sorest attempts to rid herself of his breathtaking, close proximity.

Could she possibly have been struggling to breathe? He certainly was.

"I'll…" she hesitated, but his grip tightened on her hair, becoming bruising. Hermione let out a sharp, shocked cry, tugging feebly at her restraints. She wanted to claw at him, slap him, wrench him away from her and tell him to go to hell. "I'll marry you! I'll… marry you…"

Just as quickly as he had grabbed her, he released her and moved away. He had gotten up from his seat so quickly that the chair toppled from its perch and landed sideways with a deafening crash. He vanished from the room in the blink of an eye, leaving her completely flustered and chained to her seat while she waited impatiently for his return.

He was not gone for more than five minutes before he stepped back into the room, accompanied by Ron, who was now finding the correct key to unlock her.

Of course, Ron would have been appointed on guard. Malfoy probably found that dramatic irony simply irresistible.

Hermione exchanged a quiet look with Ron, waiting until the chains were off her wrists and ankles before she wrapped her arms around him in a tight, loving hug. He returned it fiercely, presenting much less softness than he had before. Hermione clung to her best friend like he was air, knowing that this might very well be the last moment she would have with him for a long time.

All too soon, the moment was over and she was wrenched out of Ron's grasp and dragged from the small interrogation space.

She was right about being near the Department of Mysteries. The long, narrow, tiled hallway seemed painfully familiar. Hermione knew the room filled with prophecies was around here somewhere. Still, she was spending too much of her wavering energy just trying to keep in step with Malfoy as he stole through the corridors, heaving her along behind him. His legs were inhumanly long. It was almost impossible to maintain pace.

"I really hope you enjoyed that, mudblood," Draco whispered while they entered the elevator to get to the main floor. He forced her in front of him and hissed into her ear. Hermione stood very still as she felt Malfoy's breath on her neck. She could feel his posture, calm and collected against her spine. "Because I promise you, that's the last time you're _ever_ going to see your friends."

Her heart slumped helplessly into her shoes.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was almost exactly how she remembered it. Though warmth may have radiated from the fireplaces, the walls held little to no love. Everything was dark mahogany or oak. Materialistic, grand, and expensive. Hermione felt a shiver kiss the base of her spine as she regarded the vast void facing her. Already, she could feel each and every dream being sucked out through her tanned skin. The life would soon begin to leave her cheeks pale as a pallbearer, she would crawl into this deep, dank hole, and she would never come out again. Throughout the building, the walls strove high, wildly daring the skies to rain down upon them. Everything was bold, extravagant, elegant, and cold. Empty, even with all the trinkets each room was filled with.

And yet, with all this room, the walls felt as if they were closing in around her. The place might as well have tumbled down around her shoulders. She was a ruin. Cabinets hung in the corners like sarcophagi, taunting her with soft, deadly insides. Hermione felt soulless here already.

This was what it felt like to be buried alive.

"You're wrong," she said. A part of her was speaking to herself. Her sensitive ears perked as she heard him crossing the threshold to stand in front of her. Chocolate brown eyes clashed with sharp steel and she raised her chin to him defiantly, standing her ground. "I'll see them. If you think that being under your roof is going to stop Harry and Ron from finding their best friend again, then you really know absolutely nothing about me, or us."

His immediate response was a wicked smirk. It was incredibly… _cute_ … to see her so determined to break his rules.

"Is that so?" He taunted, daring to take a step closer to her. "Let me remind you, Granger, that what you're entering into is not some lighthearted, pathetic _muggle_ marriage. You live in this house and you follow _my_ rules. That's final."

"Funny. I would have thought you'd be glad to have a _mudblood_ like me out of your house for extended periods of time," Hermione retorted, folding her arms over her chest to take a more menacing stance. It was rather difficult to accomplish when Malfoy towered almost a full foot over her. She must have appeared about as intimidating as a toddler throwing a tantrum right now. "Besides, what loss is it to you if I see them? You won't."

Malfoy chuckled in amusement. She hated that.

"You seem to be missing the point here… _mudblood_." He stepped closer for emphasis. Hermione took a step back. That was alright. She would be backed into the door eventually. "I didn't hunt you down for two years just to marry you. Believe me when I say there were much better prospects than _you_ , who were actually pining for me, even after all this time." He stepped forward again. She stepped back again. Perfect. _Keep it up, Granger_. "No… you've cost me two years of my life—"

" _Your_ life?! How dare you—"

"You cost me two years, and every day of those two years, the need to destroy you completely has grown more and more potent. Every time I came even a _sliver_ from catching you, you flew off again. That need to obliterate you just grew and grew." Another step forward, another step back. Soon, she was terrified to find her back meeting solid, thick oak. Draco slapped his hand on the door next to her head. "So I kept hunting, scheming, and knowing that the second I had you in my grasp, I was going to pluck out each and every one of your _fucking_ feathers and make it so you'd never fly again."

She blanched instantly.

"So, _mudblood_ …"

They stood nose-to-nose now. Draco's eyes were completely inescapable. Hermione almost wished that she could melt away into the dark, unwelcoming walls of this house. At least then, she would not feel so out of place. Claustrophobia was beginning to eat away at the stem of her brain, rendering her completely immobile.

He relished in her suffering.

"You're not going to see your friends. You're not going to see anyone, unless I grant it. Why? Because I want you to suffer. I want you to go mad, just like you made _him_ go mad—"

"You mean your poor excuse of a father—"

He slapped his other hand to the opposite side of her head, making her flinch and gasp.

"Don't you dare say a _word_ about my father—"

"Draco, you unhand that poor girl this instant!"

The voice sounded from behind them. Draco immediately growled low in his throat at the tone, knowing precisely who would have the gall to be so forward with him. His slate eyes jaggedly jerked to the source of the irritation. Hermione's gaze followed his own, peering curiously around his shoulder. Draco shuddered when he heard the soft sigh of relief emitting from his fiancée's mouth. Just when he was actually getting somewhere…

Andromeda clutched her grandson tightly to her bosom. The blue-haired toddler was struggling to get onto his feet and run around, which Draco always forbade in this part of the manor. She huffed at the sight of the two, narrowing her soft eyes. Her sights locked upon Hermione and the corner of her mouth twitched in kind greeting.

"Honestly, she's endured enough for one day. Don't you think she ought to settle into her room?" Andromeda chided in a gentler tone, now that she had his attention.

"I told you to stay out of this, Andromeda," Draco seethed.

Hermione had already taken action, ducking under Draco's arm to run to the elder Tonks. She gave Andromeda a sweet half-hug, although she wished that she could wrap both arms around the woman. Unfortunately, Teddy was in the way, and had even tugged lightly on Hermione's hair in greeting. It took the two women a full few minutes to get the toddler's fingers untangled from her hair. The little nuisance just kept flexing his little fingers!

"Andromeda, what… what are you doing here?" The young witch asked.

Andromeda adjusted Teddy on her hip and sighed. "Narcissa happened, really. Apparently she had left half of her estate to me when she… died. Something about her wanting a proper home for Teddy and a proper maternal figure for her son." Her eyes pressed into Draco's at the last half of the comment, earning little more than his glare, which was so potent, Hermione was astonished that Andromeda had not burst right into flame.

"She… oh. I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't know…" the young witch trailed off, judging the expressions of each party. When she found no proper responses, she continued. "That's… awfully kind of her," Hermione tested the boundaries of conversation.

"Need I remind you that you only own my mother's half of the estate until I get married, Andromeda?" Draco drawled, now bored with the conversation. "If you want to remain here after the bells sing in holy matrimony, I strongly suggest you keep to yourself and out of _my_ business."

Andromeda's mouth snapped shut almost instantly, which pleased him. He took this moment to breeze past his aunt, snatching Hermione away from her and the child on his path of self-destruction. Granger struggled once again to keep his pace, still resisting his pull somewhat. She would learn to keep up with him eventually. It did lighten his mood to see her faltering and tripping over herself. It was a firm reminder that time had been rather kind in helping him grow up. He was taller, more overbearing in his presence, and he could overpower her well.

Perhaps this situation wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Would you stop manhandling me like a _bloody_ ragdoll?!" Hermione snapped, sorely attempting to wrench her tiny, breakable wrist out of his iron grip. She had almost been too caught up in the bruising on her skin to realize that she was being dragged through the very room where, years ago, she'd had MUDBLOOD carved into her arm. She would have faltered or panicked or screamed out in protest, but the Neanderthal was moving far too quick for her to register the overbearing terror of the room at all.

Oh, that was just _low_.

She could see a hint of a traitorous smirk on his face as he dragged her through a few more halls, ignoring her protests as he swung open one of many doors along a very particular hallway with dark, ultraviolet wallpaper.

He shoved her in, slammed the door behind her, and Hermione could hear the small chants outside of the door she was now pummeling against, trapping her in for the night. Her shouts and fists went unheard, but she registered the heavy steps of Malfoy's shoes upon the rich, dark hardwood floors as he walked away and left her behind.

Hermione could not decide if she was thankful for his absence or not. She wanted answers. She wanted _out_. But, as she turned to face the grandness of her new chambers and slumped helplessly against the heavy door with tears gathering in her eyes, she decided that she _was_ grateful. Abruptly, as though completely incapable of stopping the onslaught, she sank to her bum and began to sob. It was messy, with an impeccable series of whimpers and sniffles to top it off. Occasionally, she beat her fists gently against the locked and warded door, as though pleading with the object was enough to make it open for her.

She had eventually managed to stagger to her feet and head for the adjoined bathroom, where she locked herself in and tried to wash off the stench of the day. The bathtub was large, clawed, and terribly comfortable. In spite of the fine aromas that accompanied the bubbles, Hermione found herself crying into the suds until her eyes felt dry, scrubbing at every crevice available on her body. She was sullied in some way. She had to be.

When Hermione emerged, she felt clean, but not fresh or new. Steam billowed around her and her eyes were red from incessant sobs and hiccups. She sniffled as she smoothed down her robe, which was a simple, dull grey. It was a summer-themed robe, so it wasn't thick or overbearing. It was light and made of satin. It felt like air on her body. Ironic, considering her heart felt like lead.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed when she heard a loud _POP_ ripping through the air. On her bed, a house elf stood, laying out a lovely, periwinkle chemise. On her, it would have reached a delicate calf-length.

The house elf turned to her with large, flopping ears and great big tennis ball eyes. He hopped off the bed and bowed respectfully low in greeting.

"Good evening, mistress!" The elf squeaked, adjusting his deep purple, pillowcase clothing. "Pips might've thought mistress would be longer in the bath, but here mistress is!"

Hermione could not staunch the light bubble of laughter that erupted in her throat. She had met many house elves during her plights to free them. Each one had their own unique personalities. This one almost appeared rather… clever.

"Your name is… Pips?" She asked, still sniffling a bit. Soon enough, Hermione had crossed the room and stooped down to sit on her knees, offering her hand to the tiny elf, who warily shook her hand, a little put-off by the gesture. "My name is Hermione. Is it too much if I ask you to call me that instead of _mistress_?"

Pips' eyes went rather wide. "Oh, miss… Hermione… Pips did not mean to offend."

Hermione shook her head, restraining her unhappiness. "Oh, no. You didn't offend me at all, Pips. No need to worry."

Pips appeared relieved, brandishing a bright grin at her. "Pips was just laying out Miss Hermione's nightgown for bed. Is there anything else Pips can get the lovely Miss Hermione? Pips is very eager to serve his mistress!"

And there was the clincher.

Hermione caved, burying her face in her hands once more. For the millionth time that day, she sobbed. Completely overtaken, lost, and hopeless, Hermione crumbled into herself and wept. Even someone as kind as this little creature asking to help her was enough to make her break down completely.

She was about eight cats away from crying because of a bloody infomercial.

Pips, who was rather new to these mood swings, immediately began to panic.

"Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione, please don't cry! Pips is very sorry to offend. See Miss Hermione? Look!" Pips leapt over to the dresser, beginning to bash his head repeatedly against the very bottom drawer. He cried out in pain while Hermione cried out in anguish, leaping to her feet instantly.

"Pips! No, Pips, stop! Stop, please! I'm… I'm not crying because of you, I promise. I'm just…" she trailed off, hiccupping and trying to clear her sniffles as she wiped away a few stray tears on her cheek. She sank back down to her knees as Pips ceased his self-punishment and approached her, curious and wary. "I'm just very sad, Pips." She confessed at last, wiping away another stray tear. She almost feared that she would be a dried-out husk by morning.

"Well, why didn't Miss Hermione just say so?" Pips countered, conjuring a box of tissues and handing them to Hermione. "Pips knows just the thing to cheer up his mistress. Come, Miss Hermione, come!" He guided her over to a rather cozy armchair by the dead fireplace, igniting it instantly, but keeping the flames cool with a simple charm. He encouraged her to sit and Hermione complied, finding another dim smile touching upon the corners of her mouth from the elf's kindness.

"Thank you, Pips," Hermione began. "This… this helps."

"That's not all, Miss Hermione! Pips can get his mistress things, like hot cocoa and biscuits! Pips will be right back!"

He was about to snap his fingers.

"Wait, wait! Pips…" Pips halted, his wide eyes too eager to please. Hot cocoa and biscuits sounded too wonderful to pass up, and her tummy was rumbling at the idea of food already, no matter how small the plate. "Could you… would it be possible to have a book as well?"

"Of course, Miss Hermione! Name the book! Pips will try his best to find it!"

Hermione thought long and hard, but no particular titles were immediately springing to her mind.

"Erm… could you surprise me, perhaps? I trust your judgment," she filled in, motioning to the chemise laying on the bed. "You already know my favorite color, after all." Turning back to the elf, she smiled humbly.

"Pips will do his very best, Miss Hermione!"

"Thank you – oh! And Pips?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione?"

"… Could you make it something with a happy ending?"

Pips paused, regarding her in a new light. Slowly, he nodded in confirmation, a smile growing on his thin lips. "Pips will find the happiest of endings for his mistress," he assured her.

She felt her heart lighten considerably at the comment, finding an altering appreciation for the elf's kindness. She had half a mind to free the poor thing from Malfoy's cruel authority. Perhaps, when she was legally the lady of the house, she would have that sort of power. Until then, she was just a ward.

Even beyond that, would she be anything more in this house but a wasted spirit? It was difficult to think of domestic bliss in these walls. Eating breakfast with a family… that would never happen. Happy dinners with love and laughter? Pass. Christmas? Oh, Christmas! Even that would be something to fear in this deadened tomb. There was no ounce of holiday cheer that she could see radiating off of any nook or cranny. It was a mausoleum, a place to waste away, nothing more.

Pips returned, gave her the things she asked for. He had slipped _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ into her hands before he vanished and Hermione found herself chuckling sadly at the book.

Soon enough, her face was back in her hands and her shoulders trembled with sobs.


	5. All His Other Girls

**ALL HIS OTHER GIRLS**

 _Now is the time for bravery. Not honesty._

Once upon a time, Hermione had passed on those words to Harry. After Ron had lost his temper, vanished from their tent, then promptly Disapparated, she had sunk low. She had danced with Harry, confused the moment, backed away, and when her best friend had expressed that he was, in fact, shaken to his foundations by the mysteriousness of the future's secrets, she had said those words.

 _Now is the time for bravery. Not honesty._

Her mother had said that to her when she was a child. Ninth summer, really. Hermione had been afraid to play on a jungle gym because her class bully, Sandra Epps, had been waiting to make her eat dirt… _again_. Her mother had stooped low in front of her, cupped her face, and said: _so what? Now is the time for bravery, Hermione. Not honesty_. So, Hermione had squared her outrageously tiny shoulders, poked out her chin, and faced the proverbial music.

That was how she realized she had the gift of magic. When Sandra had closed in on her at the end of the day, Hermione had tucked her wee self underneath a slide and willed herself to disappear. When Sandra's face snapped under that very same slide, she appeared to be looking _through_ Hermione, not at her.

Of course, it had taken a few hours for Hermione's invisibility to wear off, which had resulted in an early visit from the Ministry to reverse the changes and introduce her parents to a very different world that Hermione was going to venture into when she reached eleven. It was not until Dumbledore had paid a personal visit to her home and sat down with her parents where she found out that she had cast a rather powerful and successful Disillusionment Charm on herself without even knowing it. In being brave, Hermione found out that she had power in her – a power that very few people in her situation could hope to have.

She had _magic_ in her veins. Strong, powerful _magic_.

Now, as the rays of the rising summer sun tickled her nose with warmth, Hermione awoke to find this piece of advice promptly stapled to the forefront of her mind. She stretched out her aching muscles, which were much less sore, thanks to the comfort of her broad, fluffy bed. She yawned, delicately rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and stared at the top of the four-poster. Drinking in the surroundings, she remained blank in expression, hating how puffy and red her eyes still felt. The irritation would go away. It always did. Still, as she stared, she felt a new strength ebbing into her muscles. She stretched and yawned again, then stared at the canopy looming above again. Gradually, her senses became more acute. Her face adopted a stony resolve.

Once she had pushed herself up from her bed and crossed to the bathroom for a morning shower, she felt herself beginning to walk with purpose. At first, it felt forced. Her bare feet slapped hard against the hardwood floors and she pushed aside the longing for her wand. She decided to make up for it by practicing her wandless magic, using a small, calculated wave of her hand to turn on the taps of the shower. The gesture was a little hard-pressed and she was forced to adjust the taps by hand when she had made the water too cold, but she was proud that she still had enough control to move them in the first place.

Hermione used her wandless magic to retrieve shampoo and conditioner from the shower shelves, body wash… she had hand-picked the razor for shaving, since she was not _that_ bold just yet. She resumed magic in summoning her towel. By the time she had stepped out of the shower, she had a new resolve. She felt stronger, more determined. There was still a sinking in her stomach, like her intestines were being weighed down by anvils, but she certainly felt much more capable than she had the night before.

 _So what?_

So what if she had been caught? So what if everything she fought for had been snuffed out in a single moment? _So what_ if she was going to marry that fiendish, selfish, cowardly little _ponce_?

Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror and practiced a warrior's calm. It was the very same calm that she had practiced since her first year, when she, Harry, and Ron, had gone through numerous trials to protect the integrity of the Philosopher's Stone. This was not the first battle she had fought. This was _not_ the first battle she would _win_ , and by Merlin, _she would win it_. She was not some persecuted maiden, helpless and hapless. She was not some weak fairytale princess, no damsel in distress. She had fought for the rights of mistreated creatures, used a time-turner to take on twenty different workloads and _passed them all_ with flying colors. She had terrorized a nuisance like Rita Skeeter into complete and utter submission. She had bravely withstood a vicious and violent interrogation by the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange and even that wretched old bat didn't break her. She had stood against the overbearing odds of a venomous, giant snake! She had won against one of the darkest wizards of all time.

She was a war heroine.

She was Hermione- _bloody_ -Granger, and she did _not_ submit.

Hermione allowed the night before to pass. It was alright to cry and to feel hopeless from time to time. It was fine for a strong woman to break down and crumble into the dirt, as long as she did not stay there too long. The time for tears had passed. All was not lost. Harry and Ron had promised to fight and free her from the outside. Now, it was time for her to do her own part and stay strong.

 _Time for bravery. Not honesty_.

The young witch had recited this phrase to herself, even defying Malfoy's clear resentment of Luca by repeating it in loose, broken Italian. Even mentally, that jab brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips. She threw the grey robe around her naked body, tied it firmly closed with more effort than necessary, and emerged from the bathroom after using wandless magic to at least tame her short hair into soft waves. It had been a little while since it had been cut and now it was tickling the nape of her neck.

She hoped Draco enjoyed long hair, because she was already planning on chopping it back to its original length again. Hell, maybe she would go bold and get a pixie cut. She always thought those were adorable and she knew she had the delicate, feminine facial structure to pull it off.

She was not as jumpy when she heard the resounding _POP_ of Pips' entrance as she had been the night before. The small house elf reared his large eyes in her direction and flashed her a quirky grin, resonating a bit of harmless mischief at her. This made Hermione smile kindly at him in return.

"Good Miss Hermione looks well-rested, she does!" Pips quipped as he bowed respectfully to her. Hermione thought about asking him not to bow, but given how quick the poor creature was to punish himself last night, she decided against it. She needed as many friends on her side as possible, house elves and humans alike. "Pips is happy to see that Miss Hermione's happy endings followed her into her dreams! Pips thinks happy dreams are good luck, indeed."

A small bit of laughter fluttered on her tongue and she nodded. "I think I'd have to agree with that one, Pips. Good morning to you."

"Ah yes, a good morning it is, Miss Hermione! Pips even managed to sneak a slice of angel cake from the kitchens for Miss Hermione as a treat…" he looked around warily like he was being spied on, then leaned in and cupped one small hand over the side of his mouth, "old elf Berry in the kitchens told Pips not to take a slice! Said she'd whack wiley wee Pips with a spatula, she did! But Pips said to himself, he said: _wiley wee Pips_ ," Pips assumed an almost heroic posture for emphasis, " _miss Hermione is sad, and a good elf cannot and WILL NOT abide the sadness of his mistress! No sir!_ "

Hermione began giggling and Pips, ever encouraged, continued.

"So Pips snuck into the corridor of the kitchens, he did," the elf crouched low, almost crawling on all fours before he thrust his spine up against the far post of the bed. "He almost got caught! Batty Berry was listenin' for him, but wily wee Pips snuck through the kitchens, quick as a cat! Miss Hermione would've been proud, she would!" He tiptoed over the freshly-made bed, then made an enthusiastic sweeping gesture with his thin, gangly arms, like he was trying to hug the air, "and Pips snatched up a piece," he twirled around and with another, much fainter _POP_ , a small plate with a slice of angel cake appeared in his hands, "and wily wee Pips brought this precious angel cake to 'is angel of a mistress!"

By now, she was beaming, laughing now and then at his wild gestures. The little elf certainly _was_ clever. Pips dimly made her think of him as having a mixture of Peeves' mischief and Dobby's sweet, gentle heart. Perhaps those attributes would make this little house elf a fine friend, indeed. She accepted his gesture with outstretched hands, receiving the plate of angel cake with rosier cheeks and a bright smile that simply would not leave her face.

"Well, I'm very flattered you thought of me so kindly, Pips. Thank you," she said, though she did not dig into the slice of angel cake just yet. "Perhaps I might be able to eat it later? Maybe alongside another good book? You made such a wonderful selection last night. Surely, you have more _happy endings_ in mind for me?"

Pips instantly brightened at the concept, hopping up and down on her bed. "Oh, Miss Hermione! Pips has _all_ the happy endings for 'is mistress!"

"Perfect," Hermione finalized, moving to set the plate of cake upon the nightstand by the bed.

The new outfit laying across the bed had caught her interest. It was a lovely little sundress, which dipped low and had a pattern of pink flowers scattered across it. Paired with the dress was a pair of pale pink, strappy heels and a chiffon shawl to match. Rounding the four-poster bed, she had reached out to delicately trail her fingers along the soft, supple fabric of the dress, which was likely to hug her curves well and feel like butter on her skin.

"Pips?" Hermione began, turning her head up to address the house elf. Pips perked up in response. "If I may ask, what is this outfit for?"

"For breakfast, Miss Hermione! Master Draco told Pips to bring it in when Pips was supposed to make the bed," the elf replied as he finished off the fluffing of the accenting pillows, arranging them perfectly on the bed with a few very minor adjustments. Hermione frowned visibly. "Pips thought the dress was pretty and that it would cheer up Miss Hermione. The colors are very bright, Miss, very bright, indeed! Pips thought to himself: Miss Hermione can't be sad no more if she's dressed so bright!"

Hermione's smile held a little less fervor and a little more malice. Of course, Malfoy would send a bloody house elf to give her the outfit. If she denied the dress, Pips would take that denial as an insult. He would punish himself, her heart would bleed, and she would succumb. _Dirty pool, ferret_ , she thought to herself, pulling away from the dress.

"Pips?" She said again, looking over at the house elf. Gryffindor courage be damned. She would wear whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. All she had to do was find the proper way to express that to this poor creature without causing a mental breakdown. "I find myself in a little bit of a predicament. Do you mind if I confide in you? Perhaps you could help me. You give such wonderful advice."

"Of course, Miss Hermione, of course! Pips will help his mistress any way he can!" Pips replied, saluting nobly for effect.

"You don't have to call me-" she stopped herself. Now was not the time. "I mean… thank you, Pips." Choosing her words very carefully, she continued. "I'm very torn, really. This robe and this… lovely chemise you brought me last night… they're both so comfortable. This dress is beautiful, but since I've been so sad… I've been trying to find things that make me happy. Things that make me feel at home. I would love to wear the dress later today, perhaps, but as of this moment, I'm so comfortable and… _happy_ … in what I'm currently wearing that I cannot seem to part with it. What do you think I should do, Pips?"

Pips thought for a moment, appearing very wary about the topic. Still, the little critter appeared to have enough of a mind of his own to offer his sage advice. He snapped his fingers as the thought struck him. Hermione realized that she was holding her breath, praying that he would give her the response she wanted.

"Perhaps Miss Hermione should do what makes her happiest! Pips can leave the dress on the bed so his mistress can have a nice breakfast, then put it on before lunch!" The mischievous creature appeared very pleased with himself, indeed. But then he paused. Hermione held her breath again. "But what of Master Draco, Miss Hermione? He won't be happy with Pips if Pips doesn't convince his mistress to wear the dress." He inched closer, now appearing a little timid. "It is a very lovely dress, Miss Hermione."

Hermione frowned. She had not thought of what Malfoy's response to Pips' disobedience would be. Her mind reeled, sorting through her options. She could defy Malfoy anyway and go to breakfast in her pajamas, which would reign hell upon Pips, the only person (apart from Andromeda) who had been kind to her. She could try and convince Draco to redirect his anger towards _her_ instead of Pips, which was definitely plausible. She could succumb this once, wear the outfit, bite her tongue, and suffer through it. Or, she could put on the outfit, run outside to the grounds, roll around in dirt, rip and tear the dress, and _then_ go to breakfast.

She chuckled inwardly at that last option. If she went for it, there would likely be a 'mudblood' comment here and there, but Malfoy was sure to be absolutely livid with her. It would be worth the horrific expression of rage and terror on his face when he realized his investment had been completely shredded.

Reaching up, Hermione tapped her chin in thought.

"Hm…"

* * *

Draco had held off on eating. He preferred to wait until Granger made her appearance in the outfit he had chosen for her to wear. There was something about seeing his plans come to fruition that gave him an incredible appetite. Start with clothes, entice and lure her in, then crush her spirits when she's good and pampered. It would be so perfect.

Of course, there were backup plans in place for this. Should she choose not to comply, he would wear her down harder. Meet resilience with resilience. Fire with fire. Either way, she would be walking along a path that he had constructed. Stumbling and stalling was fine. It was even anticipated. She would make it to the end of the aisle and say her vows to the Devil eventually. Besides, the more fight she gave, the sweeter her surrender would be.

Almost as predicted, he could hear her bare feet padding along the floorboards and knew instantly that he had been defied. He raised his sights from the Daily Prophet to find her walking towards the breakfast table in her robe. He saw the faint blue of the chemise underneath and almost wanted to smirk outright. The last time a person in this house had come to the breakfast table in their pajamas, he had been a child, throwing yet another tantrum. It tickled him to compare her actions to that of a stubborn toddler.

"What an act of protest, Granger," he drawled as Hermione slipped into the chair at the other end of the table, clearly wanting to put as much space between them as possible. He continued with a tone steeped entirely in sarcasm. "I'm moved. Let's call off the wedding and get you back out of the country."

Granger said nothing as she adjusted herself in her seat, even going as far in her defiance as to bring her knees up to rest against the edge of the table. Her grey robes had shifted, sliding off her right leg to reveal smooth, tanned skin. Draco let out an exasperated sigh, turning back to the paper as his thoughts began to tick.

"And a blatant lack of table manners. Look out, Kingsley. She's starting a bloody revolution," he quipped.

"Keep up with that sarcasm, Malfoy, and I might actually think you're sour about not being able to dress me up like a ragdoll," Hermione retorted.

"I find it terribly funny that you seem to think dressing in next-to-nothing is a punishment for me." He let his gaze linger shamelessly on her chest for a moment, where her breasts were clearly reacting to the light chill of the morning. He was chuckling when her arms instantly crossed over her chest in sore attempts to shield herself from his detestably bold observations. He returned to his silent reading, opting for a more aloof approach to this morning's interactions.

Hermione found herself tilting her head to catch a glimpse of the header lining the Daily Prophet. She had to squint to see it, because it was so far away, but it looked like it read: TWENTY-SECOND ATTACK ON MINISTRY IN TWO YEARS BUILDS PANIC. Gradually, it shifted to a sub-header that seemed to say: KINGSLEY SAYS ACTION WILL BE TAKEN.

Her silence caught his attention and Draco lifted his head to find her curiosity getting the better of her. In irritation, he folded the Daily Prophet and settled it down upon the surface of the table, shoving it away from him. As if on cue, food appeared on their bare plates. Scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Fruit was in separate bowls, which he found Granger instantly diving for. She was swinging her feet mid-air, very pleased with herself. He had half a mind to make her move closer to him. If she wanted to be defiant and put her feet up, he would at least like to see a little more leg.

"Some people took after your example when you vanished, you know," he stated, popping a grape into his mouth. Hermione, still slouching in her seat with nonchalance, tilted her head in response. He kept his gaze down and his tone bored. "Seems you weren't the only one against this little Law. Riots broke out, the Ministry was attacked on multiple occasions, and many people actually wound up fleeing entirely."

"Isn't that sweet," Hermione replied, feeling pride rise up in her chest. "I almost hope these riots frighten Kingsley enough to abolish the Law." She paused in the middle of raising a strawberry to her lips, still with a completely defiant, brave, calm expression. He almost remembered that stoicism from the war. "You know, so I'm not forced to spend the rest of my life eating breakfast across the table from _you_."

Draco merely smirked over at her, but it did not last long as her attention was diverted. Her soft mouth parted and the perfectly-shaped strawberry (which was a little large) was welcomed into the cavern of her. His eyes narrowed and he had almost choked on a piece of toast he had been chewing when her supple lips wrapped around the fruit, suckling gently so the juices never went to waste. Her eyes fluttered to a close, almost erotically enjoying the taste. A small sigh was released and he was almost lost in translation, silently wanting the damn fruit to get lodged in her throat so she would die and end his suffering. He could feel a betraying tightening in his body; the part of which did not seem to factor in that this girl was an infuriating, self-righteous, _filthy_ piece of work. That part didn't seem to care, especially when she bit down so sensually and pulled back from the strawberry with red-stained lips. She chewed delicately, swallowed, and as if the act alone was not daring enough, a bubblegum pink tongue swept tentatively over her upper lip.

Seriously, he had indulged in a prodigious bout of sex the other day, and now he was ensnared by this little wretch as if he had been celibate for years.

 _Just wait until I break you, Granger_ , he thought as he stared down her obliviousness with a hard glare. _You'll pay for this._

"Kingsley's a complete nutter. He's not going to see reason, no matter how many attacks there are," Draco began, leaning back in his seat. He adjusted himself discreetly. She had not looked over at him once. He forced his eyes away from her when she reached for another strawberry, suddenly very uncomfortable and vibrating with an unrelenting, sexual rage. "Besides, you don't seem to have a very good grasp on this little timeframe you've concocted in that _bright_ head of yours." He took another forkful of food into his mouth, hating that he had glanced back up to catch her thin finger as it swept up some remaining juices of the second strawberry from her small chin, guiding the stream into her mouth. He used all his might to rip his gaze away when her lips closed around her finger. "Even if this Law gets abolished in the future, you'll already be legally bound to me. I mean… unless, by some miracle, it's abolished by Friday."

As his speech died out, he realized that he could no longer hear the faint, sensual sounds of her chewing. Draco mustered his courage (and his morbid curiosity) and lifted his eyes to her, where he found a surprisingly furious, red-cheeked Gryffindor staring him down in shock.

" _Friday_?" She echoed. The stem of a strawberry had been dropped messily onto the table and Draco suddenly found himself very entertained. This would substitute as a bit of revenge for her devilish strawberry seduction for now. He would take her payment it in small installments. "Surely one week is not nearly enough time to plan an entire wedding, particularly one up to _your_ pompous standards." She wheezed, suddenly breathless.

He rather enjoyed watching her chest rise and fall so rapidly.

"You've been gone for _two years_ , Granger," Draco retorted, now eating happily, where Hermione appeared to have lost her appetite. "Everything's been planned, and it's all happening this Friday."

The two ate in silence with battling reactions to the shift in mood. Hermione was absolutely mortified. She had walked into this damn room with the intention of hard protest and now she was facing down a painfully short amount of freedom. By the end of the week, she would be Mrs. Malfoy. The title alone had felt too close two years ago. Now, she only had less than seven days to keep the last sliver of her family to herself. She stared dejectedly down at her food, muttering a string of curses to herself as she forced the rest of the meal down her throat.

Draco, on the other hand, was entirely too chipper. He had taken to the silence quite well, picking away at his food and fruit with a sudden excited nature accompanying each motion. Thoroughly pleased with himself, he could only hope that the rest of the day went just as perfect as this moment.

Eventually, Draco had wiped his mouth with his napkin and lifted himself from his seat.

"Now, as much as I can appreciate your subtle protest, you should probably get dressed," he said, garnering a harsh glare from the young woman. He smirked in the wake of it, sliding his gaze one last time along her frame. It lingered on her exposed leg. Hermione defiantly righted her posture. Malfoy grew bored of the battle and met her eyes with a casually raised, blonde eyebrow. "Unless you'd rather visit Azkaban in your pajamas?"

* * *

She was being dragged along once again, wearing a black petticoat jacket overtop the dress that had been laid out for her. Pips had assured her that since the dress made her so happy, that happiness would keep her spirits high on her journey into the depressing atmosphere of Azkaban. Of course, the house elf was unaware of Hermione's hatred of the outfit in the first place, which only meant that her silent protest that morning had backfired on her.

Now trailing behind Draco with a chill seeping through her very flesh and into her bones, Hermione was suddenly comforted by the decision she had made to suffer through Malfoy's presence on a constant basis. She knew it was foolish to prefer these walls to the mausoleum that was Malfoy Manor. As much as she was a prisoner in her chosen residence, at least she did not have to endure getting her soul physically sucked out on a daily basis.

Hypothetically speaking, Draco was just as nasty as a dementor, but at least he was human. Humans were malleable. Dementors were not.

"Wait here," he hissed at her, giving her upper arm a warning squeeze before he left her side and approached the guard standing before a barred door. There were nods and exchanges of greeting before Draco murmured something and slipped over a small purse. Hermione could hear the echoes of heavy clinking, which convinced her that the purse contained a generous amount of galleons. The guard took up the purse naturally, without looking, as though this transaction was something familiar to him. Hermione tilted her head as the guard's keys jingled and he disappeared through the gate.

Draco turned back to her and made a 'come hither' motion with his fingers. Hermione followed hesitantly. She was vaguely aware of the reasons behind their visit to this place. Lucius Malfoy was, after all, hidden somewhere within these walls. It was enough to make her shudder, knowing that Draco had brought her here to meet her future in-law. Her heart was already frigid in her chest, but she squared her shoulders and prepared herself as much as possible for the onslaught of raving mad curses that would soon be shooting in her direction.

 _Time for bravery. Not honesty._

Draco lead her towards another room, appearing so sure in his direction that Hermione could tell he had been there before. As soon as they had reached the entrance, Hermione was roughly shoved inside. Draco slammed the door shut behind her, which was an astonishing gesture that left Hermione's head reeling. Of all the times Draco actually did not want to be a fly on the wall. Hermione was shocked that he took no joy in sitting through her psychological torment. Perhaps this would make the steeling of her strength an easier task.

Somehow, she very much doubted that. If this was meeting was going to be so bad that Draco Malfoy did not want to be a part of it, then that meant she was in very big trouble.

Time ticked on too long, agitating every nerve ending to the point where a wave of exhaustion swept over her. Hermione was beginning to feel very drained. Body and soul fading. Her high heel tapped nervously against the cobblestone and she felt far too overdressed for the occasion. It was awfully rude, wasn't it? Facing down a psychotic Azkaban inmate while looking rich and proper? Of course, there ought to be some kind of decorum during these visits, right? Surely she would not be left _alone_ in the room with Lucius without an official guard?

Her horrors were confirmed when the door opened. The very same guard that Draco had spoken to grunted as he weaved a stark silent Lucius into a chair across from the table from Hermione. Like her own chair in the Ministry, Lucius' seat was bolted to the floor. His hands were chained to the seat as well, ensuring that he would at least be restrained from attacking her. Somehow, this was not a comfort at all. Then, the guard relieved the room of his presence, leaving Hermione sputtering broken protests after him. The door was slammed shut and there was a tell-tale noise of a bolt sliding into place.

She was locked in.

 _Brilliant_.

Hermione found Draco's attempts at torture incredibly counterproductive when Lucius remained slumped, staring over his knees and deep into the uneven floors, which she had tripped over several times while traveling the halls. For a prison, it was alarmingly poor in structure. Even the prisons in the muggle world were in better shape. This place reminded her of a medieval Alcatraz.

Perhaps she ought to say something, but she decided against it. If Lucius was silent now, perhaps she could sit where she was, not move, and if nothing happened, Draco would grow bored of this little game and drag her back to the Manor. He would be frustrated, she would curse him for manhandling her, it would be the greatest fun! But no. A deep-seeded part of her was ready for the lashings she was about to receive. Something in the air sank heavy into her lungs and she found herself _knowing_ that Lucius would not stay silent this whole time. From that realization stemmed the concern for what would happen when he actually _did_ speak. Would he rail and rave? Would he speak calmly? Would his deadened state encourage empathy from her?

Hermione had helped lock this man away. She never thought she would have to _see him again_.

Perhaps that was Draco's point. Rubbing her face in her supposed mistakes.

The silence was becoming more unnerving by the second. From what she could see of Lucius' face, he looked much more haunting than before. Certainly a long fall from grace. He was dressed in rags and occasionally, a tremor shook through his frame. He was filthy, he smelled awful, and his long white hair was matted and messy. Hermione shuffled a bit in her seat, hesitating before she decided to get up and knock on the door. If this was Draco's grand plight, he should have been made aware that it was only effective in stench alone.

"Know you…" a low voice bit out, ragged and rumbling. Hermione froze in her spot, halfway to the door. She stiffened and turned slowly, regarding Lucius with wariness. His face eventually lifted, revealing two years' worth of absolute torment that had been etched into his features. His eyes, which once shimmered with bright malice, were now bloodshot and dreary, almost glazed over with complete insanity. "I know you…"

She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling very exposed, even with her long jacket. Shivering from the sudden wave of ice in the air, she began stepping towards her chair again. Hermione still said absolutely nothing as she sank into her seat, swallowing hard under the vacant, yet scrutinizing gaze of Lucius Malfoy. She sat with a straight posture now, knowing to brace herself against the force that was coming. He had regarded her, recognized her, and now it was time to face the music.

 _Bravery. Not honesty_.

Her chin tilted up. She jumped in spite of her mantra.

"KNOW YOU! I KNOW YOU! LITTLE MUDBLOOD SCUM! I KNOW YOU!" His shouts were so forceful, they almost made Hermione fall out of her seat. She braced herself, steeled her expression, and shut her eyes tightly. His chains rattled as he tugged hard on their strengths, trying to rip himself up from his spot. "CLOSES HER EYES BUT SHE CAN SEE ME! SHE CAN SEE ME! MUDBLOOD BITCH THINKS SHE CAN DISAPPEAR! BUT I SEE HER! I SEE YOU! I SAW! I KNOW YOU! NOTHING CLEAN IN THE WHITES OF YOUR EYES! MUDBLOOD! MUDBLOOD! MUDBLOOOD!"

Beyond the door, in spite of the crazed screeches of a raving lunatic, Draco smirked. He heard the shuffling of heels along the cobblestone of the floor and a fist beating against the door, which only made the moment sweeter. No more than five minutes into this little meeting and Granger was already getting cold feet.

Odd. He was under the impression Gryffindors lasted longer under pressure.

"Your hour isn't up yet, Granger," Draco called out from his side of the door. "Make yourself comfortable." He leaned back against the wall beside the door, idly twirling Granger's wand in the fingers of his right hand. "It's what I always do," he mumbled to himself, keeping his voice hushed.

* * *

Draco had thought he would find her sobbing when she first encountered Lucius, but she was borderline catatonic. He had been surprised when he had opened the door to find that the mudblood was not crying, but staring Lucius down with a very weary expression. She refused to eat a single bite when he took her out for dinner. She had not even responded to Draco's minute jabs on the way back home. She remained stone silent, unrelentingly quiet. It was strange; like she had shut down everything but her primary functions.

Draco did not let himself become vexed by this reaction, however. It was parallel to his own reactions when he had first seen his father in that state.

He was a little more surprised to find her almost falling into step with him as he guided her to the bedroom she occupied. The walk back to Hermione's room in the Manor was stone silent. Malfoy did not need to utter a single triumphant syllable for her to know that she had lost this round. She complied with little resistance as he pushed her into the room and closed the door to ward it.

 _Next month, we get to do it all over again_ , Draco thought to himself as he finished with the wards, leaving the witch alone.

Hermione took this moment to crumble just a little bit. She did not sink into depression as she had the night before. Instead, her spine met the door and she shut her eyes tightly. Her head tilted back against the solid wood and she took three large, long, deep breaths to center herself. A few tears might have worked their way from her eyes, but they were brushed off her cheeks very quickly.

She used a bath to ebb the rest of the tenseness in her shoulders away.

Soon enough, she had emerged from the bathroom and found solace in the pajamas Pips had laid out for her. Periwinkle, again, but because the night was cooler, the silk pajamas were an ensemble of pants and a button-up shirt. Probably still as airy as ever. By the charmed fire, she found her slice of angel cake, a hot cocoa with steam rising from the mug, and a new book. Now curious, Hermione had crossed the threshold of the room and ran her fingers over the title of the book. A small smile tugged on the corners of her mouth.

 _E. Nesbit's Fairytales._

Pips really liked those happy endings.

Childishly, Hermione suddenly became very eager to read those fairytales.

She changed into her pajamas quickly, then stood for several minutes at the end of the bed, holding the dress she had worn that day in her hands. Every thread of the garment reminded her of everything she wasn't, practically taunting her with its beauty. Hermione was not this dress. She wasn't prim or proper and she certainly did not belong in Azkaban, wearing something like this. Honestly, that whole situation screamed jeans-and-a-tee-shirt to her, not heels that got stuck in rickety cobblestone. Who on earth went to a prison in heels anyway? Ridiculous. She wasn't soft or flowing. She was rags, really.

In a fit of embarrassment and rage, Hermione jolted up from her spot and padded briskly along the floorboards, balling up the beautiful dress and throwing it defiantly into the charmed fire. She watched as it ate away at the fabric, rendering it all to wondrous ashes. In that moment, Hermione felt empowered. She would do it again to the next dress, and the dress after that, and the dress after that. She would do it all until there were none left and Draco would have no choice but to give her the old self back.

A small knock at her door tugged her out of her reverie and Hermione's head jerked in the direction of the noise.

"Hermione?" Andromeda's voice was soft, calling out to her like a hymn. Hermione's shoulders visibly relaxed, but she said nothing, crossing the threshold once more so Andromeda could see the shadows of her feet in the space under the door. "I know… I know where Draco took you today," the woman continued, making the young witch's heart sink. "I cannot open the door, but I wanted you to know that… that you are not alone."

Hermione's palm flattened softly against the door and she was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to hug Andromeda as she would have hugged her own mother. Surely, if Andromeda _could_ have opened the door, she would have allowed it.

She heard the older woman let out a soft breath of amusement.

"I hope you're enjoying Pips' company," Hermione smiled softly at that comment. "He's very… mischievous… is he not?" The young witch rolled her eyes in an amused response.

Silence closed in around the door and Hermione was almost afraid that Andromeda had left.

"Stay strong, Hermione. The tides will change… I promise."

There was a gentle rustle of paper as a copy of the Daily Prophet was slid under her door, hitting her bare feet. Hermione backed up and picked up the paper, glancing briefly between the door and the information in her hands.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Andromeda finalized. Hermione heard soft footsteps retreating from the door.

"… Goodnight, Andromeda," Hermione replied, slowly walking to the chair in front of the fire. She slumped into the soft cushions and began reading through the materials left to her.

Soon enough, she helped herself to angel cake and cocoa and dove into happier endings.

* * *

 _A/N: I would like to extend personal thanks to Stepchild, who offered excellent and constructive criticism. For their efforts, I chose to dedicate this chapter to them. Thank you, Stepchild, for your support and assistance._

 _On a side note, I've been listening to Until The Ribbon Breaks' cover of "One Way Or Another" on repeat during the process of writing these last few chapters. So, if any of you are looking for good tunes to accompany your reading experience, I highly recommend that song. It's very fitting._

 _Thank you for reading. I will be posting more soon._

 _\- Coddiwomple_


	6. Face On Magazines

**FACE ON MAGAZINES**

For a whole day, Hermione did not leave her room. Draco let her be. Leaving brief, fleeting moments of reprieve was a good tactic. She would rebuild, recover, and rejoin him with newfound strength. He would crush it. Rinse, repeat. He would admit, watching her resolve crumble was something fascinating. The outcome was almost always different. Sometimes she would lash out and fight back, sometimes she would cry, and sometimes she would adopt an eerie calm that rendered him speechless. Her methods for dealing with his pressures varied, depending on the severity of the action, but each one was subjective to the moment and the weight it carried. Her meeting with Lucius had so closely resembled a masterpiece that Draco was almost positive he had broken her beyond repair – so far beyond repair that she could not even bring herself to shed a single tear.

Now, they were eating lunch at the table in the dining room. Silence, which was once a friend, was becoming unnerving. It suckled at the stem of his brain and made him a mite anxious. Every now and again, he would look steadily up from his meal to peek at her through long, blonde eyelashes. She appeared indifferent, chewing and swallowing while staring solely upon her plate. Never anywhere else. Surely, he could tell by the tensing of her shoulders that she felt his gaze on her, but she never responded to it. She did not even look up at him. Had he really gone too far? Had he really broken her already?

Well, _that_ was no fun.

Draco had been so positive that the girl had more fight in her than this, but the signs were there. Her cheeks never went red once. In fact, the color seemed to be slowly draining from them. The tan in her flesh that he seemed to enjoy was beginning to fade away. Her freckles were more accentuated, but the skin did not hold the same amount of _life_ that he so enjoyed tampering with. She had even come to lunch dressed in the outfit he had ordered Pips to bring her. Green dress, silver belt. A rather infantile reminder of the house and the person she would soon belong to. Flowing and curve-flattering. He thought it was ironic and she had never even said a single thing about it. Of all the times to opt for silence, he never thought it would be _now_.

Finishing the food in his mouth, Draco slouched back in his seat, now studying her without a veil of casualness. Steeped in his thoughts, he wiped his mouth with his napkin once, settled it onto the table beside his plate, and decided to test the water's temperament of the day. Surely, he would be able to get a rise out of her somehow.

"I never got the chance to tell you yesterday, since you were far too busy cowering in your room," he began, allowing the last of his sentence to linger. She never looked up from her food once, but her chewing had slowed down. That was something, right? "There's going to be an engagement party tonight."

She shrugged.

She bloody well _shrugged_.

Slate eyes narrowed as she piled a bit more food onto her fork and placed it elegantly into her mouth. Listless. Draco could feel his gut tightening. He really did hate being ignored, and she did ignore him flawlessly. He would not give up. He had clung too tightly to his ideas of revenge over the last two years, concocting an entire theme park of red delights for the Gryffindor ahead of him. It was too early for her to become so compliant.

"Pips will be bringing your dress to you later this afternoon. You know I can't resist… how did you put it? _Dressing you up like a ragdoll_?" Another pause for effect. The words lingered in strained silence. She continued picking at her food, only putting a little in her mouth at a time. He confirmed to himself that she must have been using it as a tactic to keep herself from responding to him. That made him tick, certainly. _Women and their bloody silent treatments_ , he thought to himself, feeling fury inch from his gut towards his throat. "Anything to say to that, mudblood?"

Granger paused just then, looking up at him from her plate. He felt minor satisfaction in the acknowledgment, but it dissolved into a raised level of rage when her expression was blank. She looked like she had not been listening to a single word he uttered. Like a child who had been called upon by a teacher when they weren't paying attention.

She shrugged again, said "alright", and went back to her food.

Alright? _ALRIGHT_?

That little _bitch_.

He'd show her _alright_.

Abruptly, Draco shoved himself up from his seat, stalking towards her with sheer purpose. Catching on quickly, Hermione pushed herself up as well to meet the impact with true courage, though she still found herself staggering back as she noticed the terrifying anger he approached with. It was wafting off of him in overwhelming waves. She hardly had a chance to scurry out of reach when his hand caught her arm and she was dragged flush against him.

On instinct, her eyes became stone cold earth in dead winter. Frost-biting and warning. His grip dug deep into her arm as he stared down at her with an eerie calm, like holding her in place took the littlest effort. Hermione did not struggle against him, sensing that he would garner a power-hungry satisfaction. She took on the pain of the bruises forming on her limb with a flexed jaw while she regained her footing and used him for balance. Eventually, he stared down at her while she stared up at him. Defiance dueled with influence and for a few stark silent moments, the war raged.

"Next time, perhaps you'll be a bit more responsive," Draco said. Hermione half-expected his tone to be pained or whining, but it was as steady as the strong hand wrapped around her arm. For the sake of emphasis, he slithered the fingers of his free hand through her hair, sending confusing jolts throughout her body. The jolts, she convinced herself, were painful. He fisted her hair tightly and jerked her head upwards, using the defiant tilt of her chin to make her comply. "After all, you're going to need to put on a hell of a show for our guests tonight. Might as well start practicing now."

"Isn't that what I've been doing?" Hermione asked, her own voice a bit choked. The strain on her neck made cords tighten. She sounded weak, but through gritted teeth. "Why fight it, right? I'll be a subservient wife, just like I ought to be. That's how your kind works, isn't it? Collect a trophy, bear some spawn, die and rot in the ground." Draco's jaw clenched at the preconception, which was, for the most part, fairly accurate. "After all, I'm under your roof, following your rules. That's how purebloods work, right? All means to an end?"

He tightened his grip. Hermione found herself letting out a sad laugh.

"Funny… from your constant soapbox lectures, I always thought your role in society was so much more important than being a _fucking_ breeding machine—"

She sucked in a sharp breath as her head was craned further back, making the tendons in her neck strain like tightropes. Was it possible to snap them? It sure felt like it.

"And what about you, Granger? What are _you_ meant for? Running away from your obligations, abandoning your family and friends, letting them suffer for you? Setting yourself up with leeches so far below your level, just so you can feel like the one in control?" Her glare would have been a lot more potent if she was not staring up at him from such a painful angle. "Looks like your role in society is just as useless as mine."

"I do _not_ set myself up with leeches," she snapped back. He was so pleased to see the red rising to her freckled cheeks again. "Besides, it's no worse than the girls _you_ go for."

"Oh, but we're not talking about me, Granger. We're talking about _you_." He sensed it was time to try something new, so he released her wrist. "Speaking of _fucking breeding machines,_ as you so delicately put it…" the hand in her hair was doing a fine job of keeping her in place. She was too focused on the pain to try pulling away from him. "Tell me… what was his name? The shopkeeper at the café. The one who called you _bella_."

She struggled briefly for a moment, trying to at least inch her feet away from him. Malfoy responded by resting a hand on her hip in so calm a manner, it was enough to keep her paralyzed with confusion and fear. The gesture was a warning, she decided as he cut through more of the space between them, putting their chests inches apart. If she tried to get away again, she would get more bruises than the ones forming faintly on her arms. The air became painfully thick in her lungs.

"L—Luca," she managed, sounding weaker than intended. "His name was Luca."

"Mm," Draco responded, clearly amused by her falter. She damned herself. He stroked his thumb over the delicious curve of her hip just to keep her mind reeling. Power play. He heard her breath catch in her tightened throat. _Finally_ , some good reactions. "And this… _Luca_ … he wanted you, didn't he?" He released a small, condescending breath of a laugh before she could muster the strength to answer. "He did. Why else would he resort to such a desperate pet name as _bella_?"

"At least he knew how to show a woman respect," Hermione countered, steeling herself to the pain as she managed to finally glare up at him. "You should try it sometime."

"Should I?" He asked. Just then, the mood shifted and even Draco questioned his own actions. The hand on her hip began inching ahead at an excruciatingly slow pace. Hermione didn't even notice the motion. "Is that how easy it would be for a man like Luca to _slip in_ , Granger?" Inching further and further until his palm was splayed just to the right at the small of her back, he watched as her eyes gradually widened. He felt a small dimple just before her backside sloped graciously outward. Entrancing. He started sliding down. Her hands came up to press palms flat against his chest, stiff with warning. He braced himself, in case she mustered the courage to start pushing him away, still watching the overlapping emotions streaked across her face. "All they have to do is come up with a cute little nickname, talk sweet to you, and your pretty legs just pop open, do they?"

"How _dare_ you!" She found herself again and shoved. She shoved hard. She shoved with all her might. Hermione practically bruised his chest from the impact of her push, but his hand was still embedded in her hair and he tightened his grip to keep himself in place while a whimper of pain expelled helplessly from her lips. In split-second retaliation, his other palm jutted into action, slipping the rest of the way to take a handful of full, supple, half-moon flesh in his grip through the rear of her silken dress. The fabric bunched in his fingers, wrinkling. She stilled almost instantly, heaving like a fish out of water. Their chests were flush against each other now. She felt his air tickling her lips. Barely a sliver of breathing room. She had winced at first, but the grip on her lower half was not hurting her. It was just… cupping firmly.

"What about the _Weasel_?" Draco asked. His tone was still so _bloody_ calm! Hermione felt as though she had just sprinted through an entire marathon and here he was, cool as a cucumber. The only amount of disdain he seemed to show was when his lips curled around Ron's ridiculous nickname. "Did _he_ show you respect? Because from what I recall, there wasn't a week that went by in school where you two weren't bickering about one issue or another."

Air _whooshed_ out of her lungs when the fingers curled a little tighter around the lower cheek began to knead the flesh intimately. It was not a dominating touch, but more of a methodical approach to relaxing her as he would relax a lover. Hermione tensed up even more when she felt something growing, thick, long, and overwhelmingly hard, against her flat tummy. She was already dreading the path this conversation was taking while simultaneously trying to clear her head of a strange, suffocating fog.

How the hell did it get so hot in here?

"Let me go, Malfoy," she managed, sputtering over a tongue that would not work properly.

"I remember when you were holding his hand, after the battle at Hogwarts," he continued, ignoring her plight. His fingers moved skillfully, massaging the flesh in his grip through buttery fabric with surprising gentility. He still felt cold, even as his eyes drifted to her mouth. Distanced from the act. Every move was calculated. Perfected. Trained to generate a response. This calm seemed almost habitual, and it was. His gaze traversed to her own again, reading her. It made her knees tremble and clench together. "Did he realize the error of his ways, perhaps? Show you the _nicer side of him_? Maybe you let him crawl into your bed that night. Is that why he left so quickly, Granger? Did he get bored? Was it too easy?"

She found her strength again, practically beating her fists against his chest. He chuckled at her efforts.

"Don't you dare talk about Ron like that! He's ten times the man you'll ever be." His grip tightened at that comment. "I'll have you know that I've never—"

She stopped herself and immediately snapped her eyes shut in order to look away from him, but it was too late, and he held her gaze firm. Draco's eyes were already glimmering in a _very_ entertained sense of mischief. Hermione's eyes went inexplicably wide, furious with her own poor defenses. Apparently, maintaining her integrity was much harder when he had his hands all over her like this. He could relate.

" _Never_ , what?" He coaxed with a deceivingly innocent, curious tone. His hand on her hair loosened slightly and the hand cupping her backside through her dress had stopped its irritating and distracting kneading. Hermione clenched her jaw again and said nothing.

He knew the answer, but _oh_ , it would be so delicious to hear the confession from her lips.

He was smirking wickedly; the most emotion she had seen him display throughout this whole encounter. Her eyes widened in complete horror when he bent a little at the waist and his adventurous fingers slipped from her rear and down, along the fabric against her thigh, under the hem of her dress around the knee. They now inched devilishly along smooth skin, up the back of her thigh, retracing their steps.

" _Never_ been with the pathetic shopkeeper? The Weasel? Potter?" Her mouth leapt open in horror as his fingers began splaying out against the underside of the very same half-moon delicacy of her rear, but without the feeble, protective barrier of her dress. " _Never_ had a man buried deep inside you at all? You might need to be a bit more specific."

All of her strength shot through her palms, shooting him back from her.

"My romantic life is _none_ of your business, Malfoy!" She brandished a formidable index finger in his direction with flaming cheeks. "And don't you _ever_ touch me like that again."

He couldn't hide his amusement, glancing over his shoulder at her retreating form. He was laughing now. Pride and fresh ambition blossomed and swelled at a rapid rate in his chest. In spite of a rather painful hard-on, the momentous occasion was too perfect not to enjoy completely. He had always theorized that Granger had been a virgin during their time at Hogwarts, but after two years traveling the world and she _still_ remained untouched? Draco found that astonishing… and certainly noteworthy.

She was untouched. Not even the Weasel had been given that gift. All this time, she remained completely innocent to a man's ways, and in a few days, she would be bound to _him_.

Only him.

Well, he'd be a complete fool to let that go to waste, really.

The decision to touch her in such a way might have been radical, but he _did_ want a reaction. When he was unable to get it any other way, this was surefire for results. It was amazing, really. There were countless emotions that fluttered so shamelessly over her eyes. Confusion, fear... curiosity… perhaps a spark of passion. He had not been anticipating those last two reactions, but he would be damned if he did not admit they almost tempted him into a frenzy. Draco had not braced himself for how she would feel when she was quivering under his touch, or how attractive she looked when warring with herself as his fingers took their time in branding her flesh with heat. She responded in a delicious manner to him. He decided then that this would mark the beginning of his little seduction.

He would have her in his bed before the end of the honeymoon.

* * *

Hermione had stalked off to her room, practically ripped off that stupid green dress, and chucked it into the charmed fireplace. Just like the dress before that, and the dress before that. _Three's a pattern_ , she thought almost smugly to herself, watching the green fabric melt away as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, half-naked. She had eventually tugged on her soft, grey robe, pacing around the perimeter of the room in the deepest thought.

She had just confessed that she was a virgin. To _Malfoy_ , of all people. Oh, the _poofter_ was probably having a bloody field day. More importantly, she had confessed this while he was touching her like… like THAT.

Nobody had ever touched her like that before.

Hermione convinced herself that it was the shock of the moment, the pain in the pull of her hair that kept her still. It was not his touch that made the temperature of the room rise to the point where she found it hard to breathe. Surely, her body knew better than that. Surely, she had not reacted so positively to the touch of a man who just wanted to see her suffer… right?

She slumped onto the cushioned, soft end of her bed, burying her face in her hands. There was something wrong with her. There had to be. Something malfunctioned in the wires of her brain and she was looking for any amount of good to counter the horrendous situation she was in. But how could that good be found in _his_ touch? Was it because a strong part of her desperately wanted to be mistaken? Was it because she wanted to appeal to a better part of him, and this seemed to be the best part she'd seen so far? Was she falling into the twisted clutches of the famous Stockholm Syndrome?

Her gaze traveled over to the _new_ dress. Pips had likely laid it out while she was eating lunch. Hermione shuddered at the memory. It was a long, elegant dress. More curve-hugging than anything she had worn before, apart from her chemise. Hermione had almost thought the dress would be silver, in theme with the dress she had worn to lunch, but it wasn't. The silk was a pale lavender/silver color, floating train. A jeweled decoration held together the bunched straps at the bare, open back. Cowl neck. It was elegant, not at all spiteful, and a 1930s, classy style.

Hermione sighed.

 _I might regret tossing this one into the fire later… maybe_ , she thought to herself.

Pips eventually found her a few hours later with another, female house elf, who he introduced with a sly wink as Berry. Hermione had managed to restrain her amusement long enough to allow Berry to do her hair after she had put on her dress. However, she could not staunch a few of her giggles when she witnessed Pips getting his tiny hands repeatedly slapped away from her head in the mirror by Batty Berry.

"Oooooh, you's a wily wee _wretch_ , you is, Pips! Berry will wound you good, indeed!" Berry would say as she wagged a hairbrush in Pips' direction, and Hermione's hand would fly to her mouth in sore attempts to hide herself. She could swear that Batty Berry was tugging her short hair on purpose by the end.

As if her head didn't ache enough already.

Hermione found that once Berry had wrestled Pips out of the room with an angry _POP_ , her stomach sank. In a few moments, her warden would come to retrieve her, and even she would admit that she looked rather lovely. With this realization, her brain reworked the last moment she had shared with Malfoy and wondered with sickening dread if he would think to conduct a repeat of the events. She shivered in what she convinced herself was disgust, smoothing down the soft fabric of her gown nervously.

She was staring into the fire when her bedroom door opened without so much as a knock. At first, she was afraid to look at him, but she could practically feel his eyes raking along her body. Her curiosity confirmed her concerns. She looked over at him just in time to catch his scrutiny, which drifted from head to toe, then back up, lingering on her torso and appearing rather appreciative every time. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"Stop staring at me like that. I'd rather we get this over with quickly," Hermione snapped, ignoring the way her skin began to sizzle.

He said nothing in response and let those steel eyes wander back down. Rebellion. Hermione felt stripped bare by the time his eyes met hers again. All she could hear was the soft clink of her long earrings, which were delicate and subtle, dangling and swaying. She watched as he reached into his pocket and made a motion with his fingers.

"Come here," he said.

She narrowed her eyes skeptically and asked, "why?"

Draco mirrored that narrowing, but with far more malice. "Come here."

Hermione's jaw clenched and her chin raised in defiance. "Or what?" She dared.

"Or I'll make you come."

His tone was just as calm as it was earlier that day. Hermione caught a flash behind her eyes of being at that same proximity, barely able to breathe as his fingers trailed under her dress and up, up, _up_ —

She huffed and practically stormed over to him wordlessly, only for him to take up her wrist in a tight grip and tug her closer. From this angle, she could see that he had produced a ring from his pocket and she habitually clenched her fist to keep him from putting it on her.

An engagement ring? He could not be serious.

"Don't make me pry your hand open, Granger," he warned, tightening his grip.

Hermione glared up at him, but he smirked when her fingers relaxed and splayed out for him. Any part of her that thought the gesture would be quick, she cursed, and cursed, and cursed some more. Of course, he was going to make this moment last. He did so by holding the ring up to her finger and deciding to watch her expression while she looked on. The ring was slowly brought onto the tip of her finger. He paused, then pushed slowly onwards, reaching the knuckle, then pulled it back out to the tip, only to shove the thing hard to the hilt. She let out a pained and shocked noise, not realizing that his smirk grew smugger at the sound.

The innuendo was not lost on her and she attempted to wrench her hand out of his grip, only to find that he kept her in irons and forced her to meet his firm gaze. He said nothing, merely staring her down with a calm anger, right before sliding his hand from her wrist to her elbow. He jerked her out of her room completely and forced her arm into his own as he led her along the hallways, which seemed to give a wider berth to them in twisted respect.

* * *

Viciously familiar with majority of the faces at the party, Hermione was trying desperately to find a corner to hide in, but Draco made this impossible. Andromeda was likely instructed to keep herself and Teddy secluded in one of the wings of the manor, which disappointed her quite a bit. She was so hoping for a familiar face to greet her with a sliver of warmth. Then again, Draco did say that he would pluck out all of her feathers, which meant this was yet another mode to suffer through.

First, there was Pansy. Grown up and airheaded with nowhere to go. She was stuck to the side of her husband of one year, Gregory Goyle, who had turned into a tall, broad, and rather handsome young man. He grunted a lot and did not make grand conversation, but Hermione could only assume that he was a perfect match for Pansy, since she liked to have pawns instead of friends. Pansy, on the other hand, was quick-witted and cruel in her comments, telling Hermione that she "looked good for a mudblood". Draco made no move to correct Pansy in this, simply thanking her for coming, only to move onto the next bout of torment.

Even Daphne was a hassle, although she was far subtler in her disgust. She had stuck strictly to undermining Hermione's intelligence when it came to Pureblood gatherings, indicating that she carried herself too much like a man. Hermione kept herself astonishingly silent throughout this greeting, along with the rest.

"Figures you'd get to me last," Blaise quipped, flashing a white grin in Draco's direction. He shook the hand of his comrade with a nod of respect that Hermione had not seen before. Draco returned it in kind.

There was a rather beautiful blonde who closely resembled Daphne, dangling delicately from Blaise's arm. Hermione could only assume that it was Daphne's younger sister, Astoria. The girl had grown into a breathtaking young lady. All the more shocking, Blaise appeared to handle her with an elegant and gentle grace; a respect.

She did not have much time to register anything before Blaise had boldly reached for her hand, murmuring " _la bella_ " under his breath as he pressed his lips softly to her knuckles. Hermione suppressed a laugh, glancing briefly over to Draco, only to see a flash of something dangerous flicker in his eyes. Oh, that one struck a nerve, and Hermione instantly found herself grateful for Blaise's presence. Even if the acceptance he and his wife showed was false, it was still better than nothing.

"I've been waiting a long time to be officially introduced to the woman who has Draco all tied up in knots," he said, holding an undefinable allure as he gestured haphazardly while speaking. He then motioned to the young blonde on his arm. "We never did get the chance to meet properly in school. You remember Astoria."

"Of course," Hermione replied, reaching out to shake Astoria's hand gently. She almost felt as though the blonde needed to be treated like glass. Even her handshake was feeble. "How do you do?"

"Wonderful, thank you," Astoria replied, offering a beautiful smile. Accepting and sweet. So unlike the Slytherins Hermione had met. "I must say, it's refreshing to see the two of you finally coming together." She glanced from Draco to Hermione. "Personally, I think the symbolism of your marriage would mean so much to the Pureblood community. Magic is _magic_ , after all."

Hermione shifted awkwardly. Draco tensed. Blaise took the hint rather well.

"I couldn't agree more." His dark, alluring eyes twinkled with mischief as he closed a hand over Astoria's affectionately and looked over at Draco. "Such a shame Theo couldn't make it, Draco. You know, he was dying to meet his best mate's fiancée. Had a whole row of joked lined up. I have half a mind to tell him you got married without him. You know how much he loves surprising you with visits when he's angry with you."

She felt Draco tense, pinning her arm to his side almost painfully by the elbow. Her expression adopted a visible confusion. If Theo was Draco's best friend, then why was he becoming so stiff when he was mentioned?

"Perhaps you ought to," Draco replied finally. "You know he's missed the past three Quidditch games because of his work with the Ministry. Bloke needs to get out more."

"Oh, he's got his work cut out for him. Kingsley's been seeing to that." The Italian turned his head curiously to Hermione. "You've been out of the country for some time, Miss Granger. I'm sure Draco got you up to speed on what an… _impression_ … you left on the Britain wizarding community?"

Her eyes twinkled in response. "Only vaguely, really. Although I never intended for such things to take place on my account."

"Nonsense," Blaise waved his hand. "In truth, I'm somewhat relieved. Arranged marriages are common among purebloods, but we never said we enjoyed it." He looked to his wife just then, who gave him a playful glare. He smiled down at her in response, assuring her mutely that it was all in good jest. "Kingsley has been getting a little… _bold_ … so to speak. I believe you're more of a hero to the community now than you ever were before, which is certainly saying something. You took a stand, and taking a stand always shows a strength to be admired."

"Blaise, are you quite finished sensationalizing my fiancée?" Draco spat out, sounding awfully bitter. He narrowed his eyes upon the Italian, silently threatening. Of course, he should have anticipated that Blaise would receive Granger this way. Flirting was practically second nature to him.

Astoria barely managed to stifle a fragile giggle. "Oh, come now, Draco. You know my husband could never stop himself from flirting with a beautiful woman, even if he exhausted every effort trying."

"She's right. It's a curse, really," Blaise replied, still smirking.

He left a lingering gaze on Astoria's radiance that Hermione could not help but envy greatly. Though the Italian might have shown a bold flirtatiousness with her, it was clear that his wife was his keeper. The couple sorely reminded her of romance novels she used to read, where the two main characters were filled to the brim with a constant whirlwind of never-ending desire for nobody except each other. They also reminded her of something Hermione knew she would never have.

"Perhaps this topic is best-suited for a less _joyous_ occasion," Blaise concluded finally. He craned his head slightly to give Astoria his undivided attention. "We should go say hello to the Goyles, Astoria. You know Pansy won't let you live it down if you avoid her all evening."

"Oh, do I have to? The woman is so droll and all she wants to talk about is shopping." Astoria forced a rather endearing pout, then turned her attention to Hermione to crack a small joke. "I can appreciate fashion as much as the next person, but really, there _are_ other topics to speak on. Personally, I would love to meet a woman who discusses more philosophical subjects."

Hermione let out a small bout of laughter. "Good luck with that one. Pansy's about as philosophical as a toothbrush."

There was a small pause. Astoria snorted rather gracelessly, then fell apart in laughter. Even Blaise chuckled heartily while Draco kept a stern, stony expression.

"Truer words have never been spoken," Blaise said, grinning as he shook his head. "Perhaps my wife and I can come to visit sometime. Us boys will hit the local Quidditch pitch and Astoria here can discuss her philosophical topics with the brightest witch of our age. Wouldn't that be fun, Draco?"

Hermione felt him tense again.

"A pleasure, certainly," Draco gritted out.

"Oh, could we? I would love to pick your brain about the misconceptions and prescriptions of gender studies in the centaur community over tea! That is… if you're interested in that sort of thing," Astoria blurted fervently, and with a bright, convincing smile. Even Hermione could not find herself capable of saying no.

"I'd be delighted, actually," she replied, not willing to have her arm bruised any further in Draco's grip by indulging the woman on the spot.

"We'll make plans, then," Blaise said, moving forward to capture Hermione's hand again. He kissed it suavely goodbye and Hermione felt a blush touch upon her cheeks. " _La bella_." She forced down a laugh. "Draco." He shook Malfoy's hand firmly.

"So nice to meet you at last, Hermione," Astoria called out softly, waving goodbye. She fell into step with her husband and the two begrudgingly walked over to Pansy and Vincent, greeting them in a way that seemed almost as natural as when they had greeted Hermione and Draco.

Could Slytherins really lie _that_ well?

Draco was furious. He should have known that Blaise would overstep his boundaries. Even at Hogwarts, Blaise beheld a natural charm that followed him from fourth year onward. He even managed to make some of the professors fall into the trap of his suave gestures, charming smirks, and mysterious eyes. Draco already envied him for his skilled tactics, even before this moment. Granger may not have noticed Blaise's spite, but Draco did. He even went so far as to call her _bella_ , which was enough to make Draco's fists clench. How dare the Italian be so bold in Draco's own house? How dare he touch and entice his fiancée in such a way?

More importantly: _how dare she go along with it?_

Granger was smart. Brilliant, really. She was no fool. Even _she_ could tell that the pet name Blaise had issued was a rather personal jab at Draco. Worse, she almost openly laughed about it. She thought it was _funny_.

He had already resolved that Granger would be warming his bed by the end of their joke of a honeymoon. Now, Draco had half a mind to toss aside his plans entirely and take her right in the middle of that damn party, just to push out all thoughts of the _others_. Potter, Luca, Weasley, Krum… _Blaise_. That bastard tipped the scales entirely with his bold-as-brass comments and now, there were too many shadows looming over Draco's shoulders. Too many silhouettes pawing for the woman who would be his wife, practically hiding her from his view. It tickled him the wrong way even more as he gradually came to the conclusion that in this little, shadowy bubble, Granger was untouched. The ghosts were a shield.

He didn't like that. Not at all.

Hell or high water, he would break through that wall of darkness. He would find her.

Throughout the remainder of the party, Draco's demeanor grew more possessive. No man touched her after that, and the arm that was linked with Hermione's somehow found its way around her waist, pinning them hip-to-hip. She was not permitted to sit at all. Sitting meant that she would be away from him, and might engage herself in another little tryst before the evening was out. Draco couldn't have that.

Her feet were killing her by the time the last of the guests left. The night itself had been somewhat enjoyable, though Hermione had concluded that his crowd was certainly not as wonderful as her own. Everyone was too… _proper_. Hermione preferred people who did not need high heels and fine dresses to have a good time. In fact, she had the sudden urge to roll down a muddy hill in the middle of the party just to set an example. Riches were nothing compared to genuine, messy happiness.

As the house elves began to clean up, Draco guided her away. The shoes were making her ache and she stumbled very occasionally, but he was silent, even helping her maintain balance as he brought her back to the door of her bedroom. This was the calmest way she had ever seen him open the entrance to her chambers. His hand was on the small of her back, making her tense slightly as he urged her within the confines.

She stepped forward a few paces until she was standing in front of the charmed fire, but it took her a moment to realize that Draco had followed her inside. She did not register the act until she heard the bedroom door shutting and glanced up – expecting vacant space and nothingness – to find that he was now standing against the thick, strong door, holding his wand casually in his hand. Her eyebrows raised up in minor fear and curiosity, becoming stiffer.

"Malfoy… what are you doing," it was not a question. It was a demand. After subjecting her to that bout of awkwardness at the party, what could he possibly expect of her now?

"You really are clever, aren't you," he began, now twirling his wand in his fingers. He never stepped away from the door. Hermione was already calculating her chances of slipping into the bathroom and locking the door before he had the chance to reach her. It was too far. She tensed more. "You understand, that sort of behavior won't be tolerated when we're married, right?" His tone was calm, just as it had been all day.

Hermione now found that she _knew_ what that calm meant.

 _Eye of the storm_ , she thought with sickening dread.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about—"

"Blaise truly enjoys tormenting me," Draco began, now pushing himself from the door. He had caught the wary look she had cast to the bathroom door. Better to eradicate her chances of escape early on before she missed his point. "Of course, I should have anticipated that he would use you as a device for that sooner or later. Never thought it would be at my own engagement party, though." He scoffed and shook his head. "He's getting bold."

"This is about _Blaise_? Wh-…" Hermione trailed off, completely confused. "I understand that you wanted me to feel entirely out of place and disrespected at that party, Malfoy, but just because Blaise was actually _kind_ to me—"

"You saw _that_ as a kindness?" He asked, quirking a brow. "You really don't know how Slytherins work, Granger."

"Whether that kindness was fake or not, I appreciated it far more than those… those _slags_ like Daphne or Pansy. At least Blaise showed a bit more decorum. Given the setting, I found it rather refreshing," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest. "Besides, how can you be certain that he wasn't being genuine? His _wife_ certainly seemed taken with me."

"Astoria doesn't know any better," Draco waved his hand, causing Hermione's jaw to drop at his gall. "She's always openly defied pureblood etiquette. Blaise doesn't. He utilizes it."

"So you think he was… what? Trying to warm up to me for nefarious purposes?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I would hope that the horrific events earlier today would have convinced you that I am _not_ that sort of woman."

"He wasn't doing it to get _you_ , Granger." Draco corrected, narrowing his eyes on her. His glare was so potent. She felt it digging into the base of her spine.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, registering the information. It did not take long until she broke into a fit of sardonic laughter, which only caused his glare to deepen. Considerably. _Of course_. How could she not have seen it before? Blaise was not warming up to her to be suggestive or to woo her. He was being so bold because he wanted Draco to know that he didn't buy the show.

"Oh…" Hermione brushed fake tears from her eyes, adjusting her makeup. "That's… I have to admit, that's _brilliant_." Blaise was showing Draco that no matter how it was dressed up, she was not his, and she did not want him. It was a warning; an acute awareness of the senses. It was genius. Hermione glanced briefly up at the ceiling in thought. "I should send him a fruit basket or something."

Draco was almost bending his wand at this point, glaring daggers at her. If looks could kill, she would have been ashes in an instant. Since that was impossible, he had taken a more delightful approach. His steps carried him closer to her, but he did not overpower or overwhelm her. He did not back her into a corner. He only stood approximately two-and-a-half feet away from her. This had caused the laughter to die out in her throat. He watched as she warily addressed him with her gaze.

She could not decide if him maintaining this distance was a good thing or a bad thing. Somehow, it felt far more terrifying than when he had pinned her against him at lunch.

"Take off your dress," he instructed.

Hermione's eyes snapped wide as saucers. Her mouth dropped open.

"Absolutely _not_! How dare you ask me to do something like – like _that_!" She snapped back haughtily.

"You might not want to mistake it for asking, Granger." He gestured to his wand for emphasis. Hermione suddenly missed her own very much. She would have hexed him to Hell and back just for looking at her the way he was now. "Take it off." Silence followed, strenuous and overwhelming. He tilted his head. "Now."

Her paralysis was wearing off. Roses in her cheeks. She huffed and reached up, fiddling momentarily with the left strap of her dress. Given the fabric, she was unable to wear a lot under it. She wished for long hair again. Though unmanageable, it would have at least covered her breasts. Still, she decided that quickness was key. Get it over with, then breathe. Pips would bring her hot cocoa and biscuits, let her curl up with a new book, and forget this whole thing.

Hastily, she unclasped the back fastening. The straps of the dress fell away and she pushed the damn dress over her hips. It pooled at her feet, but she did not trust her aching feet to step out of it without catching on the dainty fabric and making her trip. So, she stood completely still, drank in a deep breath, and covered her chest with her arms to protect _some_ modesty.

"Arms down," he instructed.

 _Well, that was a bust_.

Her arms hesitantly fell away. Eyes on the ground as she felt his gaze sweeping over her naked body. At first, he was still. He remained right where he was. The longer he took, the more reality sank in that he was in control. Perhaps this was what he wanted, she mused as she clenched her fists at her sides. Still, as the seconds ticked by, she was gaining in anxiousness and… perhaps a sliver of curiosity. What was taking him so long? It was a look, right? Just a power play to prove that he had the power and she did not. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he taunting her?

Unable to ignore the morbid pull of her questions, Hermione's eyes flickered back to his face, studying his expression as he studied her bare form. He seemed… _docile_. Nothing like she had expected. His eyes were not hard or cold, but blazing and calculating. Each patch of flesh his scrutiny rested on, he took his time with, letting his imagination wander. Hermione tilted her head. Her earrings clinked softly. She found herself a little lost, watching as he seemed so distracted and drank her in.

He had begun with her neck, observing the cords that tightened in fear and nervousness, picking out the precise places he wanted to bite and suckle. Her shoulders, which were so stiff, they even pained _him_ , and he imagined relaxing them with light massages and teasing touches. Her chest, which heaved as she sucked in air, he thought of doing the very same as she panted above him, riding out her pleasure. Her breasts, which were quite exquisite against the firelight, he thought of taking into his mouth, much like she had done with those strawberries the other day. Her stomach, still with that tempting line in the center that he could almost taste, he thought of dragging his tongue along the soft dip, wondering if he could feel the muscles flex and quiver if he went about it the right way. The soft V of her thighs and hips, he thought of tasting. The toned curves of her thighs, he thought of dipping his head between. Her trembling knees, he enjoyed and pried apart. Her defined calves were pressing into his spine. Finally, her dainty heels were the only things she would keep on while he played.

He drank in every piece, every sliver. Though this was a very twisted set of circumstances, indeed, Hermione never thought a man could pay attention to every sliver of flesh in such a… _desirable_ way. Whenever she had overheard men talking in vulgar nature about a woman, they usually had two or three body parts that were the central topics of conversation. Draco was different. He studied her like an immortal; as though he had all the time in the world to ensure that not a single fraction of her went to waste. He _savored_. She had never seen anything like it before.

She was shocked as she realized he was stepping towards her, but she still did not trust herself to move. He wasn't quick. He approached with suave indifference and reached for her. Unlike earlier that day, he touched no inappropriate piece of her vulnerable body. Instead, his fingers merely went to grasp lightly at her chin, urging her to meet his eyes. His thumb pressed to the center, just under her full lower lip. She could see a bit of strain in his gaze as he remained fixated on her stare, never shifting once. Here, she witnessed the full magnitude of his self-control, and was stricken with a sublime sensation. Overwhelmed, yet fascinated.

"Blaise was wrong, Granger," he said in a shocking, low tone. It practically rumbled through her body, making her quiver. At the same time, it was factual. Simple. To the point. "You _are_ mine." The silence hung around them, heavy and thick. "You just don't know it yet."

For once, Hermione did not respond. She merely stared wide in shock as he released her, turned away, and left the room. She heard the soft chants of wards being put into place, and then the sounds of his echoing footsteps ricocheting off the walls of the hallway.

She did not move an inch for what felt like eternity.

Eventually, she mustered the courage to change. The heels went first. Her soft, comfortable robe was tugged around her body and tied tightly closed. The dress now lay exactly where she had let it fall, taunting her with its elegance and beauty.

In a rage, she had gathered up the dress and made to throw it into the fire, just like all the others.

She stopped herself this time. Her hard eyes flickered from the fire to the garment, studying the fabric as though it held answers to questions she had been asking since she got here. Unlike the other dresses, this one harbored no _real_ threat. It became something she simply wore and looked beautiful wearing. In spite of the most recent event of torture, it was not the dress that had wronged her, but the man who sent it to her in the first place.

She found herself unable to fault the silk.

After a nice, long soak in the tub, Pips popped in with his usual nighttime gifts. The dress was on the bed by the time Hermione had changed into her pajamas. Pips appeared more pleased than ever before and took away the dress to clean it.

Hermione read happy endings until she fell asleep in the roomy armchair.

* * *

 _A/N: Well. I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I am sorry for the intensely sexual theme in this one. I felt like Draco's and Hermione's tension needed to be elevated a bit more._

 _I also thought I would take this moment to personally thank those who decided to favorite/follow this fic. Honestly, I was not expecting it to reach popularity at all, so this was a wonderful surprise. I'm so happy you're all enjoying what I'm putting out. I have to admit, it's incredibly humbling._

 _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

 _Did I mention 'thank you'?_

 _\- Coddiwomple._


	7. I Don't Know What It Means

**I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS**

The following day, Granger never set foot out of her room. It was of no consequence to Draco. He had proved his point and he proved it well. He could even feel her trembling through the tips of his fingers as he held her chin and made her look at him. Now, she was likely raging and moping simultaneously, trying to sort through her thoughts and calculate the appropriate mode of reaction. He had traveled by her room once that day, after breakfast, and heard almost no sound on the other side, save for the crackling of the enchanted fire Pips had put into place.

His elbows rested on the arms of the chair he was in, staring down the empty space across the table from him. She may have been embarrassed, angry, or both. Too ashamed to come out and face him. Draco found a strange solace in her absence, fully aware that though she might have been away from him, her abnormally large brain was probably racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out the motives behind his actions.

Perhaps he had taken this one too far? With Lucius, Granger had been practically laconic. Last night, she stared up at him with a potent mixture of bewilderment, shock, and something he could not quite place. Fascination, maybe? Either way, she had obeyed his command, remained still, and judged him viciously until he had relieved her of his presence. He knew as he left that he had branded her with a mark; something that not only told her where she belonged, but that he was going to claim his prize soon enough.

He had watched the truth sink deep into her eyes when he said his last words and left her there.

Naked.

Merlin, he had shown little enough restraint during lunch yesterday. He had actually surprised himself when he managed to keep his hands off of her when she obeyed him and stripped in her bedroom later that evening. The urge to touch, taste, and consume was strong. It took every ounce of willpower to keep his hands strictly to himself. He had to repeatedly tell himself that he was not there to take advantage. He was proving a point. By the look on her face and the reaction of her body, he could tell that his point hit home the moment he had her chin in his fingers.

Draco eventually took to his feet. His expensive dragonhide shoes tapped along the floorboards. He was aiming for his study, where he could possibly get some reading done, review the guest list, and maybe have a glass of firewhiskey when he was done. Or several. Today felt like a drinking day.

The flash of green that erupted in his fireplace told him that his firewhiskey would be poured a little earlier.

Blaise adjusted his suit. A deep, dark purple with a black tie. His eyes fell upon Draco in amusement and Draco returned the gaze with a raised eyebrow. Eventually, the two came together. Blaise was smoother in his approach, where Draco felt all that anger rushing back to him from the night before. They shook hands like men, then backed away from each other.

Draco's relationship with Blaise was – for the most part – civil. Where Theo easily played the part of Draco's best friend, Blaise was the closest thing to a _friend_ Draco could ask for. When it came to socializing among Slytherins, friends alone were a feat. Blaise may have toyed with Draco the night before, but the blonde was aware that Blaise's intentions were good. He was proving a point so that Draco would maintain course and finish what he started.

Draco appreciated that, but he could not deny the urge to wrap his pale hands around Blaise's dark throat the moment he appeared in the study via Floo.

"An entirely unwelcome surprise, Blaise," Draco said finally, pouring two glasses of firewhiskey.

Blaise chuckled. "And an entirely unsurprising welcome, Draco." He adjusted his cuffs, nodding in thanks when Draco offered the drink to him. He received it and took up a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk. Draco took up a seat for himself on the other side. "I wouldn't happen to see Granger during this little visit, would I?" He watched in glimmering amusement as Draco glared at him over the rim of his firewhiskey, almost instantly pouring the lot down his throat before getting back up to refill his glass. Blaise's cool, calculating gaze drifted to the whiskey sloshing and rotating in his glass. "I never told her how lovely she looked in that dress."

"Pity," Draco retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. He decided to bring the bottle with him back to the desk. He kept his own steel gaze locked upon his task, not allowing his friend the satisfaction of a glare. Blaise always enjoyed knowing he got to people. "Good thing she was already told such by about half a dozen other people last night."

Blaise's eyes twinkled in response. He pointed at a specific spot on Draco's face with the same hand that held his glass of whiskey. "You know, the right corner of your mouth twitches when you lie," he said, raising his drink to his lips for another sip. "Granger was surrounded by almost every single person who hates her." He feigned belligerence, tilting his head curiously as a smirk played upon his mouth. "It's almost like you intended it."

"Nonsense," Draco replied. "It's hardly my fault that she was uncomfortable around my old classmates."

"Ah, that's the pure of heart for you." Draco glared fully then. Blaise continued. "Never comfortable in a room full of liars." Another pause. Blaise studied Draco almost intuitively. Another sip. "You know, it's a shame, really. She's hardly as happy as I thought she would be. For a woman who is about to be married, her smile did not quite seem… wide enough."

"I know what you're doing, Blaise, and it's not going to work," Draco snapped.

"Oh, that just means it's working," Blaise managed through a laugh. "I warned you, did I not? I told you that even if you caught her, you would never have her."

"I'll have her by Friday. Suits me fine," the blonde sank proudly into his chair.

"Keep talking like that, I might just believe you."

"Is there a reason you've barged into my home? Apart from stealing from my best stock?" Draco held up his glass of whiskey for emphasis.

"I'm here for what I was promised, of course." Blaise replied, laughing softly to himself in a devious manner. He allowed silence to linger as he gauged his friend's reaction. Draco raised a brow again. Just as he suspected. Malfoy was likely too tempted by jealousy to pay thorough attention to the colorful conversation he had engaged in with Granger. "Astoria is eager to meet with Granger. Talk over tea, et cetera." The Italian waved his hand in a graceful motion. "Honestly, it's like your mind was not even _in_ our conversation last night." Another lingering pause that almost had Draco shattering the glass in his hand through his firm grip. "Curious. Could it be that you were… otherwise occupied?"

"Whatever Astoria wants, it'll have to wait," Draco said, his tone harsher than usual. Blaise made a casual 'o' motion with his mouth, going back to sipping on his drink idly. He still watched Draco over the rim of his glass. The tone of the blonde's frustration was inching up a level with every word. It was _most_ entertaining. "Honeymoon after the wedding. You understand."

"Of course." Blaise nodded casually, nodding along. He had clearly anticipated a rejection, although this visit was not entirely for his own amusement. Draco knew that Astoria was an intelligent and vibrant young woman, and that she was very eager to speak with Granger under more casual, intimate circumstances. The poor girl did not have that many friends in the pureblood community. Shame, really. Even Draco would admit: she was a complete sweetheart. "Might I ask how long you'll both be gone? Perhaps we can arrange something when you return."

"A month," the blonde replied.

"My, my. A month. How _confident_ you must be." Blaise's eyes twinkled at his own comment. Surely, Draco did not actually believe that Granger was stupid enough to fall for something as underhanded as manipulation? Zabini found himself almost praying that she was not. It was terribly funny to see his friend fall on his arse.

Another patented Malfoy glare.

"Am I to assume that this is the finale of our little conversation, Blaise?" Draco snapped, suddenly eager to put this topic behind him. If there was one thing Blaise enjoyed, it was seeing Draco fail. When he did, Zabini would always say, 'another lesson learned, eh?'. Like Draco really needed anymore lessons in this life.

"Of course." Blaise finished what was left in his glass, setting it neatly upon the desk. "Only came for the stock, after all."

As the Italian pushed himself up from his seat, Draco did as well.

"I should warn you, Blaise," Malfoy began as he approached his friend. Blaise regarded him stoically, folding his hands in front of him in lazy wait. "Nothing like last night is going to transpire again. The next time you look at my _wife_ , it will be at an admirable distance. I expect you'll be a bit more respectful when she's spoken for."

"Of course," Blaise agreed, offering his hand to shake. Draco took it up, shook it firmly, and paused as Blaise's eyes caught his own. "When she's spoken for."

Draco's glare could not have blazed brighter. He watched his friend – who was still smirking smugly - disappear into the Floo network and snarled as he went back to his desk, pouring himself another, taller glass of whiskey.

"Bloody Italians."

* * *

Friday gave them a beautiful, sunny day. Birds sang just outside of her window, the sun beat down upon the flourishing lawns and gardens of Malfoy Manor, and the brightness of the nature surrounding the building seemed to paint a stark contrast between Heaven and Hell.

Hermione detested it.

She was awoken at the ungodly hour of six by Berry and Pips, who practically had to drag her out of bed. From there, the preparation became a whirlwind. She was in and out of the shower as quickly as possible. Berry spent more than enough time tugging at her hair and placing white flowers in the strands perfectly. The house elf even took more time than necessary covering the bags under Hermione's eyes. The witch was yawning and complaining the whole way through, somehow believing that this stubbornness would postpone the event, or even cancel it.

The wedding dress was a sight to see, indeed. Hermione even found herself standing in front of her floor-length mirror, admiring the craftsmanship. Berry had made the piece, and had spent the last hour fitting it to Hermione's form perfectly. Illusion lace sleeves, open back, a wide train, made of matte-side satin. The witch almost wished that this was a dress she could have worn on a wedding day that actually meant something to her. On instinct, she kept smoothing her hands over the fabric, hating how her eyes lit up while drinking in the way she looked while wearing it.

She looked… _breathtaking_. Just last night, Hermione had found herself envying Astoria Greengrass for her beauty, namely because Hermione never thought she had any of her own. Truthfully, her qualities rested solely upon knowledge and intelligence. Looks meant very little to her. But in this world of pureblood etiquette, she was realizing quickly that presence, poise, and a pretty face got people pretty much anywhere they needed to be. Materialistic expression was valued, even praised.

Looking at herself now, Hermione felt almost unstoppable, in spite of the way the pureblood community looked down on her.

"Is Miss Hermione ready to get married, then?" Berry asked finally, sniffling a little as she admired her hard work. "Berry spent two years perfecting that dress, she did. Berry's glad Miss Hermione likes it."

"It's exquisite, Berry, thank you," Hermione replied, gulping as she took one last, lingering look in the mirror. She hated that she loved this dress, she hated the beautiful day, and she hated the dreaded feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her it was all just going to get more beautiful from here. "Let's go."

Berry made quick work of lifting the train of Hermione's dress with the snap of her little fingers. She followed behind her mistress, looking rather proud of herself. There was absolutely nobody indoors, but Hermione blanched when she heard murmuring and shuffling outside. The grand doors of Malfoy Manor opened. Life puffed itself into her cheeks the second the sun touched her skin. She hated that she felt so beautiful, so alive, and so… _full_.

The wedding was held in the gardens of the manor, which hardly surprised Hermione. Now that she was permitted to travel the grounds, she could tell that it was a perfect wedding venue. No doubt, this was not the first Malfoy marriage to be held on the grounds, either. Hermione could easily envision Narcissa and Lucius standing on this very property, saying their vows.

… Did witches and wizards even _have_ vows?

It dawned on her then that she never paid much attention to the marriage ceremonies in the wizarding world. She could not assume that it would be like a Christian wedding, could she? Hermione understood that the Holy Bible was read in the wizarding world, but not many families followed the religion. Besides, witchcraft in Britain would have had more to do with Druidism or Paganism, would it not?

Hermione sank deeper into her curiosity, her mind reeling. She did not even realize that she was _there_ , at the starting point, staring down the event that would strip away the very last ventricle of her.

She approached the end of the aisle, only to hear a faint rustling of fabric and a small _POP_ as Berry disappeared behind her. This seemed familiar – the part where the bride walked down the aisle towards the groom. But in place of a priest, there seemed to be an officiant of sorts. He donned long, flowing ceremonial robes that appeared preserved – or, at the very least, they were replicas of a style from some ancient era. He peered at her over half-moon glasses and had a white beard that painfully reminded her of Dumbledore. Amazing. Two years away from Britain and the Headmaster's death still pained her like it had happened the day before, but she suppressed the feeling well enough to keep moving forward.

Heavens, everything was perfect. Arches hung over them with willowy flowers dangling from them like vines. She passed under each one, taking the chance to glance up now and then as her hatred of her own enjoyment began to grow. She was aware that this was all for show, and that nothing genuine lay beyond this charade. It was surreal, really. Pink and white flower petals drifted idly from the air above them, obviously enchanted. None of them stuck in her hair. In fact, they appeared to avoid her body entirely, falling only on the stone walkway ahead of her.

There were no bridesmaids or best men. Just herself, clad in white, walking down an aisle towards Malfoy and a rather ancient-looking, Dumbledore-replica officiant. This must have been a joke – a jab at her. To have to stare down a lookalike of her old mentor and marry the boy who almost killed him.

Draco must have been mentally rolling with laughter. Hermione had cast her stony gaze to him in order to retaliate – to show him that she was not impressed, but her look softened.

He looked… shocked.

How on earth could he look so shocked? He had picked out the design, had he not? He knew what the dress was going to look like. Why was he looking at her like _that_?

Malfoy's eyes trailed repeatedly from her head to her feet, sweeping and swirling. Slate eyes appeared blank and vacant. He had raked his eyes over her many times before, but Hermione had never seen him look like _this_. His mouth had even fallen open at a slight, almost unnoticeable angle. Her cheeks went a deep red. He was looking at her like she was some otherworldly creature. She felt like an entirely different woman. He looked _astonished_.

He _was_ astonished. Certainly, he had an idea in mind for the gown, but he never once stopped to think about what it would look like when she _wore_ the damn thing. It hugged every curve more perfectly than the dress she had worn the night before. The sun bore down upon sun-kissed skin at a perfect angle, almost making her glow. She looked elegant, graceful, and more breathtaking than he had even thought possible.

Even the audience was staring at her.

Not that it was a surprise, really, but Draco suddenly found himself hating them.

Hermione ducked her head to hide the red in her cheeks and avoid the penetrating eyes of the crowd. Were they mentally tearing her to shreds? Pansy looked positively fuming with jealousy, hastily whispering something to Vincent as she passed by. Hermione could not make all of it out, but she made out the word 'cow', and that was enough to alter her focus. By the time Hermione had reached the end of the run, she almost felt as though she would melt from the strange looks she was getting.

"Please join hands," the officiant began, wasting no time.

Hermione offered her hand hastily, finding herself eager to get the event over with. A pause ensued, and silence became deadly. Draco had not raised his hand yet. It appeared that he was far too busy staring at her. It took the clearing of the officiant's throat to snap him back to attention. Draco extended hand jerkily and with a blank expression; as though he had begun the evening intent on looking smug, but now found himself at a loss. Their fingers clasped together and Hermione felt a familiar _whoosh_ of air leaving her lungs. Hermione could not have felt more out of place.

"As your hands are joined, so are your lives," the officiant began, wrapping a crafted ribbon loosely around their hands.

The words made Hermione's stomach clench tightly, but she forced herself to think of other things.

 _So wizarding marriages have more Pagan influence. Interesting_ , Hermione thought with bile rising into her throat. The officiant was rambling on, but Hermione could not catch a word of it. For a moment, she had forgotten why she was here, why she was doing this, and was now imagining all the other places she would rather be. A library, at a piano, perhaps playing a bit of ukulele, which she had picked up on during one of her trips. After all, a piano was not always accessible and she did enjoy music quite a bit…

She only knew now that Malfoy looked at her with a mixture of smugness and embarrassment in his eyes as he began to speak. This was, in a way, comforting, because it meant that he was going to have an equally difficult time speaking with sincerity.

"I, Draco, promise you, Hermione…"

She did not register the rest of what he was saying, but she knew she would have to repeat it. Still, paying attention was becoming rather difficult. A sudden nervousness clouded her from the weight of this epiphany. She was getting married to someone she did not want to marry. As beautiful and entrancing as this all was, it was a veil – a charade.

When would he stop _looking at her like that_?!

"Now you, miss," the officiant said, gesturing to her. Hermione froze, glancing around nervously. The crowd was looking at her expectantly. Malfoy's hand gripped hers a little tighter for emphasis. She felt her mouth opening and closing several times before she found her footing again.

"I, Hermione, promise you, Draco…"

She winced at every other word she spoke, which she needed to be guided through haphazardly by the officiant. Love, laughter, binding one's self to another – these were all things people did when they were actually in love. Happy. All she felt was shame and hatred. Even through the rest of the ceremony, there was distortion. Sharing one flame, indicating eternity in the rings that symbolized their commitment, slipping them onto one another's fingers. Everything was too holy and sacred and Hermione felt as though she were making a mockery of it. It was the first time in her life where she had genuinely felt like a fake. A fraud. A bloody sham!

At least at dinner, there was plenty of alcohol.

Although, barely touching her food hardly helped when the champagne hit her empty stomach. It made her incredibly lightheaded, but she kept swishing it down her gullet as a few speeches were made. The celebration involved a shroud of people Hermione was mostly unfamiliar with. Of course, there were a few famous faces she had once admired from a distance, but nobody who seemed genuinely happy for the couple. Everybody appeared to be using this celebration as a means of communication and connection. Anything to help them rise to the top.

She felt particularly inclined to rise to her feet and bolt the moment she felt Malfoy slip his hand over her knee. He told her to smile for the photographers, which she did, although she was positive her eyes appeared very unhappy.

She blanched when he mentioned that she would not be sleeping alone that night. Unable to tell if he was joking or being serious, Hermione settled with a stricken glare and refilled her glass.

More champagne. _Definitely_ more champagne.

"Come on, Hermione, get a grip," she cursed herself against the sink in the bathroom later on in the evening. Lucky for her, she was able to slip away after she was forced to greet and thank every single guest, including Kingsley. The old man appeared genuinely pleased, even mentioning through a wide smile that he was pleasantly surprised that Draco still wanted to marry her at all. That comment hit hard, shooting her into using the excuse to use the bathroom. She had washed her hands several times and could still feel the binding gold band tied around it. The fresh, new wedding ring on her finger hummed with finely tuned magic, almost sizzling her skin. The magic sinking into her was becoming overwhelming.

She patted her cheeks with cold water, still feeling ill. Perhaps it was better to eat something after all. She still did not feel hungry, but she needed something to counter the effects of alcohol on her body. The stress was beginning to make her shake uncontrollably. When she washed her hands for the umpteenth time, she wiped them off with a towel and left the bathroom.

Granger did not get far before Draco caught her hand, dragging her alongside him. She had taken a bloody millennia just to get out of the lavatory and there were other people in line to congratulate them before the end of the night.

"Malfoy… Malfoy, just hold on for a moment—"

She was pinned tightly to his side as he approached an elderly couple, who turned to face them with bright smiles. Hermione could have sworn she recognized their faces, but everything was starting to get blurry. Splotchy. She almost swooned, but caught herself, shaking her head lightly to keep her footing. She could feel Draco's stare bearing fire upon her cheek, but she did not dare meet his gaze. He lingered on her, paused, but caught himself and turned back to the couple with a convincingly fake smile. He gestured to Hermione for emphasis. The pair beamed brightly over at her with what could have been a mixture of kindness and scrutiny.

Everything was drifting out of focus.

"Mr. and Mrs. Nesbit, thank you for coming. I know _Hermione_ wanted to thank you personally for your presence." Draco saying her name sounded so… _weird_. Muddled. Hermione blinked a few times and looked at him questioningly before casting her wandering eyes to the older couple before them, who were now looking at her expectantly.

"Y—yes. Thank you very much." Her voice was light, airy, and strained. It cracked down the middle. She leaned a little more into Malfoy's side to keep her balance, making it appear as though she were genuinely pleased to have taken his name.

Draco glanced over to her curiously. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Not a problem at all, Mrs. Malfoy, we would not have missed it," Mrs. Nesbit replied, waving her hand. An annoying laugh fled her thin lips. "It's the social event of the season, after all!"

"Right…" Hermione replied, but she was already falling.

Down, and down, and down…

* * *

Draco's hands clasped together in the waiting room at St. Mungo's. Right foot tapping. Slate eyes tore into the floor below him. Polished marble. Conflicted emotions clouded his throat. His head was heavy. He could not decide if he was angrier or more concerned from Granger's sudden act of fainting in the middle of the dinner. Of course, he had a general idea why it had happened, but there was the more overdramatic part of him that worried for more severe health issues.

The last thing he needed was to chase her for two years, only to have her die the very same week he got her. That just wasn't fair.

He also could not allow her to see this as an opportunity to run off again. Connections were posted around almost all the exits and the staff had been alerted. All Draco had to do now was wait patiently and sort himself out. Given her current state, it was unlikely that she would take flight, but Draco refused to risk anything. He was paranoid, angry, frustrated… afraid?

If only it were that simple.

The day had rushed by so quickly, it was difficult for him to process the weight of it. For the sake of clarity, he thought back to the moment he found himself standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for her arrival. Clear, crisp day, bright sun, beautiful archways. There had been a large sum of faces. Most of them were influential, not friendly. Then came Granger, looking so bloody stunning that Draco had almost lost himself entirely. He remembered finding breathing as a difficult feat for a moment before she met him at the end of the aisle. It had been like getting a bludger to the lungs. The vows and ceremony following that was a blur and a joke. He hardly meant a single word of his vows, really.

Then came the reception, dinner, and then…

Wait.

Had Granger even eaten anything? All he remembered was that she was tossing back glasses of champagne like it was her job. She disappeared to the bathroom, took far too long, and by the time she was back at his side again, she crumpled to the ground like parchment trapped under a weight. Crowd panic had ensued from there. Draco had subtly asked Blaise to tend to the party while he scooped up his fresh bride and carted her off to the hospital, still looking breathtaking in her dress.

He could not imagine what a field day Blaise must have been having without him. Draco imagined the ballroom in shambles, the house elves cursing one another, and Andromeda looking rather displeased with Teddy crawling all over her. She would probably complain about nobody keeping a closer watch on his bride. Draco would never admit that the woman would have been half-right in assuming that he was neglecting Granger's well-being.

But when was well-being ever an issue? Granger had everything. Fine food, fine clothes, a fine roof over her fine, stone-solid head. What else could she have needed? Hadn't fighting wars with Potter thickened that skin of hers? Why was she suddenly so pathetically… _muggle_?

Granger was strong as an ox. It was difficult to envision her with health issues that would make her so fragile. Unless it had to do with the muggle blood in her veins. Lucius always griped about how muggles were more prone to germs and sickness, because they were just so filthy. Granger certainly did not seem filthy, blood status aside. She showered daily, always smelled like strawberries, and the only thing remotely messy about her was her hair. Even the strands were just as soft as the rest of her.

She was healthy. She would be fine.

"Mr. Malfoy?" The nurse, Miss Kerzwald, approached him with her hands folded in front of her. She was a stout woman with blonde hair and a washed-out complexion, almost a foot-and-a-half shorter than Draco, but she was the best in St. Mungo's. Malfoys always got the best.

Draco stood.

"How is she?" He asked.

"Fine, Mr. Malfoy, just fine. Turns out the girl barely ate a thing. Mix that with the alcohol… not to mention the ring," the nurse waved it off.

"The ring?" His head tilted in confusion.

"Oh! Yes, sir. We see it all the time with newlyweds. Normally, they come in here, complaining about lightheadedness. It's the magic in those Ministry-made rings, you see. There are so many bloomin' spells cast on them, it becomes a little… _difficult_ for the human body to adjust to the wave and take it all at once. I've only ever seen about a handful of them faint, though. Looks like Mrs. Malfoy was one of the unfortunate ones," Miss Kerzwald said.

"Right," Draco drawled, now back to his original indifference. He knew she would be fine. Granger was not weak. He almost thought that she would outlive Death itself, trying to have the last word. She would not succumb to something as weak as illness. "I'm assuming I can see her now."

Not a question.

"Of course, sir, of course! Go right in."

He was already walking past her and into the private room.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bed now, fiddling with the lace of her wedding dress. Her shoes had been kicked off, strewn about the floor haphazardly. She was watching herself wiggle her toes, appearing rather bored. Perhaps she had been told to either wait for clearance, or wait for her _husband_ to come and get her. Draco smirked at that last thought, adjusting his suit. Either way, she appeared to think this was the dullest activity in the world, waiting.

He could relate.

"Good to see you recover so quickly, _wife_ ," Draco teased boldly as he approached her. He watched her flinch at the title with a certain unexplainable glee. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that eating food before drinking is actually a good thing? Or, were you too straight-laced to know how to drink in the first place?"

"I wasn't hungry," Hermione replied simply. Her tone was soft. Her glare was hard. Both appeared too convincing for him to put faith in either.

"It was foolish, you know." His eyes narrowed on her as he stepped closer to her. Gradually closing the distance, he could see that she still looked a little pale. "Did you honestly think you could postpone anything by fainting like that? Even I have to admit, Granger, that's a tad overdramatic."

"I didn't do it on purpose, you _git_! I just wasn't thinking—"

"This, coming from the girl who scrutinizes her own plate for a ridiculous amount of time, just so she can calculate what to eat first? I'm finding that _very_ hard to believe." He scoffed.

"Well, believe what you like," Hermione said, now fuming. At least the color was returning to her cheeks. They looked pinker. "Either way, I don't see why it is such a huge deal to _you_. You got what you wanted. I married you. Now, I think it's best if we just keep to our separate rooms and live out our days apart from each other."

He glared harder at her just then, slicing through what little space remained between them so that he could drag her up and make her stand. The dress' train rustled as it hit the ground and he stared her down, ignoring the stunning beauty she possessed, even with the crumpled flowers in her messy hair.

"You've been gone for a while, Granger, so I'll just explain this to you now," he began, towering intimidatingly over her. She stared up at him, still beautiful as ever, even though she was a mess. "We are married, which means the Ministry is going to be doing rounds on us. You know, to make certain that we're holding up our end of the bargain. In spite of these marriages being arranged, they're still legitimate. In short, we're going on a honeymoon."

"What?" Hermione gawked, ripping her arm out of his hold. He allowed it. There was nowhere to run anyway. "A honeymoon?! Are you mad?! And what do you mean, _holding up our end_?"

"Kingsley didn't make this law for kicks, Granger. Population's dying, remember?" He paused to let the weight sink in, looking rather pleased with himself.

She gaped at him still, horror flashing across her eyes. A puff of air slipped through her lungs and she backed away from him. Her bare feet slapped lightly against the floor and the backs of her knees hit the bed. She sank down into the cushion of it, wringing her hands together in concern and humor. Abruptly, soft laughter began escaping her lips. Her face was buried in her hands and she suddenly found this whole situation completely hilarious.

They were expected to breed. Increase population. Bring life into the world. She knew this, of course, but the reality of it had not hit her before. She was expected to _have children_! Oh, what a laugh!

"What on earth is so funny, Granger?"

She was silent for a time, still letting out a laugh occasionally. Her honey-brown eyes traveled up to greet him, glimmering with a strange ambiance; almost a sadness. Yet her shoulders squared with a clashing confidence that almost made him wary. She looked like she had an ace up her sleeve. One that she was not proud of.

"I can't have children," she said simply, then scoffed. "Honestly, I never thought I would count that as a blessing—"

For the first time, his composure slipped. The moment was suddenly no longer in his control. He blanched at the concept, completely stumped. Of all the things that could have been wrong with this woman, being barren was not one Draco had ever considered. He found his fists clenching, digging nails into his palms to quell the desire to punch the wall, the bed, her – anything.

"What do you mean, you _can't have children_?" He shot back at her, his tone stone cold.

Her eyes snapped up to him, bare and angry. Her cheeks were turning more red, but Draco was hardly registering that she was even in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Hermione snapped, pushing herself to her feet this time. She closed in on him, shocked to find that he had backed away by a single step. He stopped himself and decided to meet her on a more level turf, staring her down as she spat at him. "Did I not say it clearly before? I am _incapable of making a baby._ Is that clearer for you? Do you want me to write it down?"

Draco, who appeared very speechless, only managed a gruff, "how?" through his confusion.

A bout of silence passed between the two. Blank. Draco tried to process while Hermione tried to find the right words. Nurses and patients passed outside of the door to the private room, but they were not heard, nor registered. Time took a nice nap for them. The world was still. Dead still.

"It was during the battle at the Department of Mysteries," she began, her tone a little softer now. Wary. She let her eyes flicker over Draco's visage, which seemed unnervingly blank. Hermione turned away from him, beginning to pace very slowly. The train of her beautiful dress followed her. "Dolohov hit me with this… this curse. I never really found out what it was, I just knew that it spread through me very quickly. I was incapacitated almost instantly. It took me… a very long time to recover from it, but the medi-witches told me that when the curse spread, it spread… downwards, mostly. They were able to save almost all of my organs, but…" she dropped off. Altogether, she stopped. Her hands folded over her chest; a tactic she used to fell protected. She turned back to Malfoy finally, but did not look at him. She looked at the floor, stopping just before his feet. "Anyway, it's true. From what they told me, I won't be able to… to… well, you know."

"Have you had any tests for it since then?" He asked. His fists were still clenched. Trembling with something completely foreign to him. The world still refused to turn and his mind was racing, yet completely blank.

Hermione shook her head.

"The medi-witches did all they could. I healed and I never went back. I was fifteen, I didn't really… worry about it too much at the time. I was just happy to be alive." She trailed again, finally allowing her eyes to find his again. He regarded her with trademark stoicism. Perhaps she could appeal herself in this case. Hermione stepped closer to him. "There are some things you just can't change, Malfoy. Unfortunately for you and Kingsley, this is one of them."

Silence grappled them again, hard. He stared, she searched. Eventually, Hermione had given up and turned away from him, intent on sitting down once more. Her head was beginning to feel lighter again.

He caught her before she sank down to the mattress of the bed, ripping her around to face him. On instinct, Granger struggled, but as usual, he kept her firmly in place. Now, he was snarling at her. "You don't get off that easy, Granger. Merlin help you, if you are lying to me…"

"I'm _not_ lying, Malfoy, let me go!" She shouted, relentlessly tugging backwards as Malfoy remained carved in equally relentless stone.

"Fat chance, _wife_. I don't care how much you cry or shout. I'm putting you through every medical test under the _fucking_ sun, and you are going to bear it."

"Malfoy, stop—"

"NURSE!"

And so, the battering began.

Syringes and clocks, samples and worrisome looks. Hours ticked by without a scrap of kindness in regards to Hermione's impatience. All this for a _yes_. The nurses had encouraged her to change out of her dress and into a hospital gown. They had told her that it was too beautiful to ruin. They apologized that they had to do this on the day of her wedding. Familiar with her plight, they seemed to understand that she had enough on her plate to deal with. They said that, given the circumstances, she was very lucky to have a husband who was willing to bring her in himself. Unfortunately, most wives under the Marriage Law wound up neglected. Apparently, Kinglsey ruled in favor of a man's role in the household, not a woman's. How archaic.

One nurse had colder hands than Draco. Hermione shivered whenever she was touched by her.

Hermione felt as though she was going to vomit. Once the last of the tests were finished, all that remained was waiting for results. They had put her down for a nap, eager to have her stay overnight so that she could get the rest she needed. At least they had given her something to help her sleep. It was difficult to close her eyes when she was dreading the results she already knew. Her body was too weak to function, she drank way too much water to compensate for her previous inebriation, and the longer she stayed with the babbling nurses, the more Hermione dreaded going back to the manor with a very pissed off Draco Malfoy.

It was reaching almost two in the morning before her _husband_ had stormed in again, demanding answers. From her bed, through her thin veil of sleep, she could hear the nurse saying 'yes' many times. Probably confirming her state – her _deficiency_.

She suddenly felt like she had no home.

There were faint protests coming from the nurse as she felt a strong hand shaking her shoulder.

"Mister Malfoy, your wife has had a very trying day. Surely, you can't think to take her on a honeymoon when she's this weak. I—"

Honey-brown eyes blinked open slowly and she was already being hauled into a pair of arms. Draco had hooked an arm around her back to keep her upright and pinned to his chest. She let out an aching groan. His other arm held a tighter grip under her knees, just in case she decided to be a fool and wiggle out of his grasp.

Hermione ached too much to try anything.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Her voice was weak. Breath tickled the crook of his neck.

"Granger, for once in your life, shut up," he snapped as he ferried her through the door.

* * *

 _A/N: ... I suppose I should have warned you all that I'm a Slytherin. Oops._

 _I will see your wrath in the reviews, I'm sure, but I could not ignore such a delicious plot twist._

 _See you next time._

 _\- Coddiwomple_


	8. What Does He Want From Me?

**WHAT DOES HE WANT FROM ME?**

The wedding gown was left to decay in St. Mungo's. Neither of them seemed to care. All Hermione knew was that she felt queasy, weak, and that every step Malfoy took made her stomach lurch.

Malfoy did not officially set her down until they arrived back at the Manor, although he did appear to try and steady her in his grasp. Either he was concerned that she would run if she had the chance, or the weight of this new information was much heavier than what he held in his arms. It was a strange, almost romantic gesture, apart from the stern, blank look upon his face. His movements were mechanical. He carried her as though his arms were an entirely separate entity from his body. Gentle in the touch, but stiff in the spine. With each passing tap of his shoes against the hardwood floors of the manor, Hermione grew to realize that Draco must not have been accustomed to this type of chivalry. He would not look her in the eye, nor did he breathe a word of disgust or anger. He kept his gaze straight ahead, disconnected himself from the moment, and appeared in a trance as he reached her bedroom.

He only set her down when he was certain her soft bed was there to catch her in his stead.

He had ordered Pips to get her luggage ready, then told Hermione to shower and be ready to leave within the hour. Then he left, as though he had never held her to begin with.

She had obeyed him for her own means, although she was disappointed when she realized that her wandless magic was not up to par. Apparently the nap she had taken in St. Mungo's did not make up for her stress or exhaustion. The potion they had given her was still wearing her down and making her limbs sleep-heavy.

Once her hour was up, they had gone through the Floo network. He called out _Chateau de Malfoy_ in a clear, crisp tone before they vanished in a blast of green fire in the dead hearth.

Malfoy had not looked at her at all when they stepped out of the fireplace in the new, large abode. Draco explained in very short sentences that this was his family's summer home, and that they would be staying there for a month. Much to his surprise, Granger said very little about the duration of their stay. He attributed her lack of 'enthusiasm' to her exhaustion and left it at that.

Briefly, he recalled shouting at the nurse who had administered the sleep potion to his wife. Though he could understand the need to rest, it was a similar brew to the one Madame Pomfrey had given to him in sixth year, after he had been hit with Potter's painful _sectumsempra_ curse. The aftereffects of this particular draught involved vicious nightmares, lingering grogginess, and heavy mood swings.

As if Granger did not suffer enough from that already. He may have been sadistic and cruel, but he was not a moron. He could tell when she did not sleep well the night before. He could tell when the desire to sleep made her eyes heavy. He could tell when her moods were affecting her. Increasing the dosage of such habitual parts of her personality could only prove deadly to the both of them. As such, he had lost his temper.

Now, Granger had made herself scarce, setting foot upon the steps that overlooked the grand courtyard, likely noticing that this estate was smaller than Malfoy Manor. It was, in Draco's opinion, a smaller home. Only ten bedrooms, half-sized courtyard, and a fair distance from major tourist attractions. Three acres wasn't much, compared to the twelve at the Manor, but it was a beautiful place. Perhaps Granger would still consider it large, but Draco always saw the building itself as mediocre. He only enjoyed Versailles for the scenery, so he spent most of his time outdoors.

The Notre Dame cathedral was a fair distance away on foot, but it was close enough where one could enjoy a long walk on a summer evening, make it to the end of the run, see the building being lit up for the nighttime, and appreciate the unique glow in the crevices of the grand architecture.

He used to make walks like that with his parents. He cringed at the memory, but still had the urge to make the trek.

Slate eyes drifted to the open door, noting the soft billow of Granger's dress. His eyes narrowed briefly, studying her. Her arms were wrapped around her torso. Even against the light breeze, he had never seen her look so fragile; like she was about to collapse at any moment. He knew he had been hasty in getting her out of that damn hospital, but he never thought that the effects of the events would linger on her shoulders for so long. He found his gaze relaxing and he reached up to slither his fingers through his hair, releasing a frustrated sigh.

He would have to deal with this situation eventually. The inability to produce children would send Kingsley into a frenzy. He would nullify their agreement, force them to separate, and he would probably sentence Draco to be remarried to someone else. His plans would be in complete ruin. Draco would likely become more of a pawn for Kingsley than he already was. He had been lucky enough to reside as a benefactor to the Ministry – a financial support. Kingsley had made a deal. That deal would cease to exist when the truth was discovered.

Draco swallowed hard, hating the next question that leapt to the forefront of his mind.

 _What would happen to Granger?_

Malfoy blanched slightly as he realized the immediate truth: Granger's only saving grace right now was him and their marriage. She had openly defied the Ministry by leaving, lead almost half of the public into a rebellion (which had since been smothered slowly by the Ministry), then infuriated Kingsley even more by running from her duties for two years, only to spit in the Minister's face when she returned. If they were separated – Draco thought hard, coming to his own conclusions – she would be given an official trial. That trial would be so far out of her favor, she would not stand a chance against the ignorant voices Kingsley chose to fill the Wizengamot. The threat to send her to Azkaban would become a reality, and she would be carted away from him…

… thus eliminating any chance of vengeance for Draco… _naturally_.

His jaw clenched.

Hermione's dress rustled against her knees as she stood just outside of the door. Draco slipped away from the exit, deciding that he was far too sober for this, and ordered Pips (who had accompanied them) to keep a close eye on Granger. He decided to take a walk around the grounds with a nice bottle of scotch. Draco would likely wind up in his study sooner or later to wallow. At least, that was the plan. For now, he needed fresh air and sweet, consuming inebriation. He would not think clearer, but it would certainly help calm his nerves.

She kept herself glued in place; frozen. Perhaps on part of some internal fear – a knowing that if she should pivot, she would wind up facing a scrutinizing suffering that only Draco Malfoy could provide. Then again, maybe it was just because moving any muscle was painful.

Her arms wrapped around her body in a small hug; feeble in strength. Thoughts began to fade, her gaze softened, and she lost herself in watching the blades of grass sway and vibrate in unison against the gentle pull of the breeze. She felt a bit more at ease, concentrating on each breath that flowed in an out of her lungs. For a moment, her eyes closed, air filled her, and when they opened again, she was ready for a more logical approach to her inner turmoil. This particular stress was no help to the body, but a little concentration went a long way for her mind.

What would become of her, now that Malfoy knew the truth? He certainly did not appear keen on letting her spend the night in St. Mungo's. He might have been keen on causing her pain, but he also seemed to like keeping her pain _in the family_. The only party Draco approved in tormenting her was Lucius, and that had not even lasted more than an hour. He had allowed the nurses to batter her with endless tests, but once he had received his answer, he was so determined to remove her from the hospital that he had actually carried her away from the protesting nurses himself.

 _I don't think I've ever seen Malfoy do that much physical labor in my life._

She scoffed, then winced from the small jolt of pain in her abdomen.

Overall, the inability to have a child could not possibly be enough for him to storm into Kingsley's office and demand a separation. Hermione was still shocked to think the information had affected him at all. Trying desperately to recall the look on Malfoy's face through the haze of her memory, she could not recall seeing true anger etched in his features when he had first received the news. He had looked genuinely shocked – perhaps a little scared. But _why_? Had he actually anticipated having a child with her? Having a child at all? Was this a disappointment for him? Could he have been just as concerned as she was about what would happen if Kingsley discovered this detrimental secret?

Once more, her mind rerouted back to her original question. What would happen to her now?

If Kingsley discovered that she was essentially useless to the growth of the wizarding population, surely he would terminate the marriage. Hermione's heart lifted at the thought, then sank as she remembered the power-induced state Kingsley was currently in. She had openly defied the Ministry, caused a minor rebellion… _spat in Kingsley's face_ … she cringed as she realized that getting out of this marriage was probably just as dangerous as entering into it. After all, Kingsley had promised her Azkaban if she had not married Malfoy in the first place. What would he do when he found out that she was useless to the cause?

She concluded that it was better if she never knew the answer to that question.

Her stomach clenched as she drifted to the list of things she missed dearly, which seemed to be growing by the day. She missed her friends, who would always comfort her with jokes and smiles in times like this. She missed her parents so much, it was painful, and she pushed aside the memory in which she had truly, wholly, and completely _failed them_. She missed her wand, which had been such a helpful friend in channeling her magic. She missed the necklace she wore, which held the ring with that beautiful princess cut diamond in the center; the one that wasn't her style at all. Her grandmother's ring. She missed Crookshanks and had no idea where her beloved feline could be. She missed reading whatever books she wanted.

She missed freedom.

After spending two years being paranoid, the ability to breathe easy was a foreign concept. Same with friendships and relationships in general. Over the course of her running, Hermione had not stayed in any place long enough to establish connections. Whoever she met, she treated as a passing face, then wiped their memories of her if they tried to get too close.

Luca, of course, was an exception, and she briefly wondered how he was fairing.

There was no romance in those two years. No intimacy, no friends, no hugs, no kisses, no… _nothing_. There had been no time to speak, to find things in common, to go out on a date, or to find that desirable _spark_ that she so required in order to be more intimate with a man. Perhaps she could have followed the lower standards of Ron and sank deep into commitment within a week, like he had with Lavender, but because Hermione was Hermione, she went at a turtle's pace, wanting to enjoy those key, special moments that nurtured a love which defied all external forces. This pace was unfit for the lifestyle she clung to over the past two years.

No time, no special, nurturing moments, and no love that lead to the intimate interlocking of bodies.

Just running. Always running.

In this recognition, Hermione felt her stomach lighten somewhat. At least now, she did not need to run. She just needed to stand and be strong.

She wasn't sure which was worse.

Soon enough, the courage to turn around had ebbed discreetly into her veins, but she was stumped to find no blonde-haired prat greeting her with a trademark scowl. Gradually, Hermione eased herself, step-by-step, into the summer home, observing the surroundings carefully. She was greeted with nothing but silence. No Malfoy, no voices, no echoing steps, apart from her own.

Her eyebrows almost knit together completely in confusion and she began roaming the rest of the house, searching for… something. An existence of the _other_. Freedom? No. There was no freedom. Even if she ran right from here right now, it would change nothing. Besides, she was too tired to run. Maybe she was searching for company? Certainly not Malfoy's, although his lack of insults and jabs over the past hour had made him appear somewhat tolerable, in spite of the perpetual tension that gripped them. Still, that apparent peace would inevitably slip into a sour mood and Hermione found herself too tired to deal with that as well.

She resigned to a bedroom. One of many. This one looked humble, like a guest bedroom. All she knew when she opened the door was that she saw a bed and she wanted to lie down on it. So, with aching muscles, she climbed onto the mattress and did not bother to wrap herself up in blankets.

The weather was too warm for a duvet.

Hermione curled up over the softness of sheets cushioning the four-poster, snuggling deep into the pillow while her knees bent towards her chest. By the time she found herself in a remotely comfortable position, she fell fast asleep.

Xx

When Draco returned, the house was eerily quiet. By now, he was a few pints for the worst, but the determination grew to find just where his _wife_ had disappeared to. With each step, sobriety itched at his throat. He had bellowed out her name a few times, and when he garnered no response, he pressed on, slipping through the halls and checking each bedroom.

He was not foolish enough to believe she would actually pick the one he had already set up for the both of them, but it never changed the seeds of discontent that planted themselves in the base of his stomach when he opened the door to one of the guest bedrooms and found her asleep, still above the covers. With a small sway in his step, he gradually made his way to the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the weight of the pull that drew him to her. He had been gone for quite a while. A part of him believed that when he returned, the drink would help him slip back into his original skin, turn to cruelty as an old friend. Maybe sling a few harsh words in her direction and play upon that newfound weakness.

It was difficult to do when the bitch looked this peaceful.

Still, even while he found himself unable to utter a word, his fists still clenched at his sides, mixing frustration, anger, and sheer awkwardness together in one simmering cauldron.

She was his wife now. By whatever half-cocked sanctity that title bore, she was obligated to at least tuck herself away in the bedroom he had arranged for the both of them. Did she honestly believe that sleeping in a separate room was going to hinder him? Did she think that confirming this lack of ability to bear children was going to somehow deter him from his task? His fists clenched tighter as a result of these thoughts. Whether this marriage was some proverbial sham or not, whether barren or no, and whether she willed it or not, he had come too far. His plans were finally coming to fruition. His determination to succeed had never been more potent in his veins. He tasted wildfire.

With this resolve steeling his mind, Draco now found himself smirking as he circled the bed, opting to take the part less crowded. His movements were slow, careful not to wake her as he sank into the cushioning of the duvet and mattress next to her. His fingers interlaced and cradled his head. Now making himself comfortable, Draco closed his eyes and shifted just a little, but stopped abruptly when he felt her stir. His eyes opened, his head tilted, and he caught the action. She did begin to shift, but by her movements, she was still asleep. Lucky for him, the room was rather dark. Even if she did open her eyes, there was no moon in the sky to illuminate him. He remained perfectly still as she turned in place, shifting to her other side, as though some external force had urged her to face him.

He liked that.

A small idea sparked in Draco's mind, making him mischievous. He moved closer to her, an inch a minute, and once he had wiggled through enough of the distance between them, he reached silkily for her hand and drew it up, placing it upon his chest. Stillness seeped in. She did not move as he held her hand there. He suddenly felt satisfied with this triumph, ignoring how soft the flesh of her hand was. All that mattered was the following morning, where the little Gryffindor would awaken and screech in terror to find a snake in her bed. It would hurt the hangover that would come, but by Merlin, it would be worth it to see the look of disgust and horror on her face when she realized she had been snuggled up to him for the better part of the night.

She had a rather cute nose, he thought as he observed her, still skating on the razor's edge of inebriation. A small chill in the air had caused her to curl a little more into her own body for warmth, making her appear very much like a child. Her eyelashes were thick and long. At least, through the looming shadow of darkness, they looked long. Very vaguely, he could still see the freckles that dusted her flesh, trailing down her arms.

When she had first disappeared two years prior, Draco gathered up what old photographs he could of her, so he could show them to people during his hunt. Occasionally, he would take out one in particular and observe it during late nights drinking in his study at the manor. It was a picture of her from Hogwarts when she had been selected as a Prefect. Sixth year. She was smiling and waving at the camera with roses in her cheeks, beaming proudly at her own success. He never remembered her looking so mature in sixth year. Then again, he never remembered much from his sixth year at all. Just stress, no sleep, and constant agitation.

The only thing he _did_ remember from his sixth year was his first day in Slughorn's Potions class. Slughorn had been rattling off about the samples he had produced to test them and at first, he had not been paying attention. However, he heard Granger introduce herself when she had raised her hand and for a moment, Draco allowed himself to be pulled from his thoughts. This observation was unlike him, because he did not look at the surface. She said her name, he looked over at her, and she returned his gaze for the smallest second. It meant nothing to her, and it eventually meant nothing to him, but it had still caught his attention. She saw him. Someone _actually_ saw him. Whether she saw how pale he had become, how distant, or how he had not scoffed or commented on the immediate and predictable raise of her hand, it did not matter. For just a moment – just a miniscule fraction of a moment – someone saw, someone witnessed, and someone looked worried for him.

That was why, on those long, lonesome nights in his study with nothing to keep him company, save for a bottle of fine scotch, Draco would look at that picture of her. He would look and try to remember his own sixth year. He would try to link events together or create some solid timeline, because if Granger could look so happy in that damn picture, it meant that he could have been happy too. If he had lowered his wand entirely, agreed to Dumbledore's terms, indulged in the opportunity for freedom. Granger's proud smile meant that he was missing something – something that he could not grasp, or perhaps never had to begin with. Either way, that smile mocked him, and he hated her for that.

Now, it was different. He could see the exhaustion; layered like stacks of luggage under her eyes. Her face was thinner. She frowned, even in her sleep, as though she were plagued by similar nightmares as he. Draco realized with a sordid sense of accomplishment that he missed nothing in sixth year, or in any year. His sixth year was just like all of the others. It had just ended with a hell of a _bang_. The rest was a blur because it had been irrelevant drivel that only people like Granger got hung up on. Emotions, friends, and studies. Typical, colloquial things.

Granger had smiled because she had things to lose. Her friends, her education, her parents, her world…

Now, she frowned because she lost those things.

Draco had nothing to lose, even when he thought he had everything to lose.

His head reverted back into the cup of his single hand, drowsy from drink. He had not realized that his hand was still curled over Granger's as he slipped into the depths of gripping slumber. In the midst of his own daring nightmares, those fingers flexed around a smaller warmth, and must have been comforted, because his features relaxed, and he never frowned.

Xx

He felt her stirring again and jumped when a loud yelp pierced his throbbing head. It had taken Draco a moment to remember where he was while his eyelids peeled open and blinked rapidly. The arm behind his head had gone numb, so he flopped it down to his tummy, where his other hand seemed to be. Inhaling deeply, he reached up with his good arm and began rubbing the sleep from his eyes, gradually gathering his senses. He did not push himself up to sit just yet. The sun was bloody well deadly and the warmth of the room was hindering his mobility. Inheriting sloth in his movements, Draco felt as though everything around him had slowed down. He could have sworn he could feel when miniscule flecks of dust were falling on his skin, it was so damn sensitive.

When Draco finally managed to open his eyes, he was faced with a very wide-eyed Granger, who had now flung herself from the bed and was staring him down with a half-shocked, half-sleepy glare. As entertaining as he knew it would be, seeing her like this, he had not taken into account how much pain _he_ was going to be in.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in my bed?!" She snapped, her voice shrill. Draco cringed. The noise had ricocheted hard against his skull, lowering his eagerness to see her reaction in its entirety. Did the woman always have to _yell_ like that? She was close to waking up every dog within a fifteen-mile radius.

"Oi." He waved his hand in a downward motion for emphasis. "How about taking the volume down to foghorn level."

"I will _not_ until you tell me what you honestly think you're doing!" She shot back, folding her arms over her chest as a psychological form of protection. Draco scoffed. She almost looked like a mother, with her hip cocked out to the side, practically demanding an explanation. He couldn't help but relish the irony. "Were you in that bed with me all night?"

"Surprised?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in her direction. He never moved. Not yet. He was enjoying her skittishness. Keeping still was a good way of making that agitation increase. "And may I also remind you… this isn't your bed. _Our_ bed is at the end of the hall. To the left, actually. Largest room in the place. Not this box of a guest room."

"If you think for a _second_ that I'm going to share a bed with you—"

"You might wanna rethink that threat, Granger." He cut her off, motioning his hand over the bed they had just slept on together for emphasis with his good hand, eventually easing more blood-flow into his number limb. The damn thing was becoming a hindrance. "I don't see what the problem is. We're married. Is it not normal for a married couple to share a bed?"

"Sure, if they're happy and in love. At least then, it's consensual. This is just… _wrong_." Hermione formed a disgusted expression, shaking her head. "We might be married, Malfoy, but I'll be damned if I'm going to _play house_ like this with you. Torment me all you like, but this is where I draw the line."

"Well…" Draco lifted himself to sit up, glancing down at his shirt, where a small, damp spot was. He could only assume it was drool, but upon touching the corners of his own dry mouth, he concluded it was not his own… which could only mean one thing. "It's not like I forced you to put your head on my chest while you were sleeping, Granger. That must have been your own doing. Comfortable, were you?"

She looked absolutely horrified with herself. Her eyes flickered between his face and his shirt. She absently reached up to touch the corners of her own mouth, then, if possible, she looked more horrified. Draco rounded the bed, continuing with this little game of power. He had confidence in his stride, in spite of his aching brain. He was enjoying this moment far too much to let it be ruined by something as menial as a hangover.

"Besides… I figure this ought to bring you some sense of comfort." He smirked over at her again, pleased to find that the feeling was returning to his arm. He flexed his fingers for good measure, ignoring the uncomfortable tingling sensation that ripped through the limb and almost made him grimace.

"What could _possibly_ be comforting about waking up next to _you_?" She snapped viciously, still without a shred of acceptance in her eyes. Her short hair had been tousled and messed up from her slumber. Her chest was heaving and she looked like she was still trying to get her bearings.

He quite liked her looking so disheveled.

"Perhaps the fact that I slept next to you the whole night and never _once_ made a move on you."

Oh, that did it, even though it was a _bit_ of a lie. He had moved her hand, after all. Other than that, he was a completely innocent party.

Oddly, that made this whole situation all the more entertaining.

"It doesn't matter what you did or _did not_ do, Malfoy. It's not happening again," Hermione managed finally. Her voice was still heavy with exhausted delirium. Half-awake. Arguing in a wrinkled dress, with messy hair and a softened gaze. She clearly did not get enough rest last night. Draco could only assume it was the tests she had endured the day before.

Either way, he was quick to squish any sense of power she might have thought she had.

"Granger… this is our _honeymoon_ … and since you understand that following my rules is the better idea, you should probably be made aware that this _is_ going to happen again." He stepped closer to her, where he found her stepping back, desperate for distance. He allowed it, stopping only at the poster closest to her, blocking her from the door. "You'll be sleeping in _our_ room, and before you fly off the handle with any useless protests, _yes_ , you'll be sleeping with _me_ next to you. This was just a small taste test of what's to come. You might as well get used to it."

There was a small pause, where Hermione looked as lost as a puppy, shaking her head in sheer disbelief. Draco's jaw clenched tightly, hating that look to a painful level. He hated that look; like he was some ruthless rapist, hunting for some innocent flesh. Bloody hell, how barbaric did she really think he was? He was bent on vengeance, but even he had a line that he would not cross. Perhaps that line was a little fragmented and fucked up, but it was still a line.

"I've seen husbands do worse under our _circumstances_ , Granger," he said, glaring hard at her when her gaze leveled with his own. "Consider yourself lucky."

She jumped as he slammed the door behind him, running her fingers through her hair with a huff.

Hermione then proceeded to wait five minutes, until she was positive that Draco had gone downstairs, before trying to find a shower.

Anything to get the stench and memory of that arrogant little ponce off of her.

Xx

 _A/N: I am so overwhelmed and humbled. Over 150 followers? My goodness. I cannot think of anything to say other than 'thank you'._

 _So, thank you all. You inspire me._

 _Also. Sorry for the late chapter post. The final exams of summer school have been keeping me from updating as often as I was. I was also struggling a little with consistency in my outline. I must also apologize for the short length, as this is a little bit of filler for the next chapter. I will likely be coming back to edit this chapter once the story is completed... like all the others._

 _I will be more active with this fic in about two weeks._

 _Don't get discouraged._

 _I am not finished with you yet._

 _Until next time._

 _\- Coddiwomple_


	9. Hanging in the Bars

**HANGING IN THE BARS**

Following that morning, Draco took to pestering her as often as possible, initiating all sorts of irritating rules and anecdotes that made Hermione want nothing more than to slap him silly. She did her very best to avoid him at all costs throughout the day. It was a fruitless mission. No matter what nook or cranny she hid herself in, he managed to find her and list off yet another rule that hindered her freedom. He was a constant reminder of the box she was in; a cancerous tumor eating away at her agency. Once the day had reached its end, she had run through countless scenarios in which she could put him in an eternal coma and spend the rest of her days in quiet bliss. The only issue was, whatever attack she initiated on him would easily be traced back to her, and she would find herself rotting away in Azkaban anyway.

By the time they finished dinner, his final rule had inadvertently given her an out from spending another night in bed with him. The moonlight had poured through the window and the lights had yet to be eliminated, which assured her, but she still trembled as she looked at the empty space next to him. She was burning up in the countless layers of clothing she had piled on and she refused to acknowledge the shaking of his shoulders, which indicated silent laughter at her inner battle.

Just as she had dared to toe the edge, take the chance on her own personal safety, and crawl under those sheets with him, he donned a smirk and effectively dug his own grave.

" _Fair warning, Granger. You share this bed, you share your body. That's the new rule."_

 _She jerked her hand back, looking scalded by the statement, and promptly folded her arms under her chest. Turning to the door, Hermione stormed out._

" _Well, then it certainly looks like you're going to be sharing the bed with yourself, doesn't it?"_

Despite the laughter that flowed from him at her outburst, she gained a sense of triumph and stalked back to the guest bedroom, falling asleep almost instantly. She was equally pleased when she woke up and found no Malfoy to greet her.

The next few days settled down, with Hermione keeping herself out of Draco's path as much as possible. Surprisingly, he let her be. She took to reading silently in hidden rooms and tight spaces, seeing him only during meals.

One night, he had vacated the house entirely, only to return reeking of whiskey and ill reserve. As nervous as Hermione was to see him standing in the doorway of the sitting room, he had not even looked at her. Instead, he stared off down the hallway, ghosted past her completely, went into his room, and shut himself in for the night. Surprisingly, she had felt more put-off than before, having grown accustomed to his constant invasion of her space, but she forced aside her paranoia and asked Pips to get her another book.

This morning – the morning following his strange behavior – he seemed to be awoken with a renewed vigor; a prime determination. Hermione had avoided his stare but found it odd that he was in such a good mood, after having looked so pale and murderous the night before. Being in no position to speak with him about it, she resorted to strained silence and picked idly at her food while skimming through the pages of a book. The side of her chin rested on her fist, elbow on the table, and now and then, the fringe of her growing bangs would hang in her eyes, causing her to push it away in irritation.

He finished the mouthful of scrambled eggs, swallowing while he observed her across the table without a hint of shame. She was not looking back at him, more focused on the plate of food in front of her, which was a normalcy. Granger never liked looking at him in general, and meals were no different. His eyes trailed to her attire, which was just a pair of simple pajamas. She seemed to inhabit comfortable attire over the past few days, refusing to put on anything else. Draco easily recognized this as the first signs of a woman beginning to let herself travel deeper into the many stages of depression.

He couldn't have that. The marriage was only just beginning and already, she was letting her misery get the better of her. Though Draco was pleased with the fact, she still had a long road of torment ahead of her. He would need to restore some of her hope before ripping it all away again.

"You're gonna need a new wardrobe, Granger," Draco said, leaning back in his chair once he was finished with his plate.

She looked up at him just then, her visage twisting in pleasurable confusion. Granger then looked down at her attire and grimaced like she saw his point, but still decided to put up a mild fight, as anticipated.

"What do you mean? I already _have_ a new wardrobe."

He raised an amused eyebrow in response, eyes trailing over her long-sleeved, slightly frumpy ensemble. It was wrinkled from having been slept in, particularly around the stomach. He had peeked in on her that morning to find her taking up the entire bed, arms slung above her head, fingers tangled in her hair, and chuckled gently to himself when he found the pajama pants rucked up to her knees and her shirt bunched up under her breasts. It was a pleasant shock to see that she slept like a mackerel when alone, yet she appeared completely content staying in one place when he had drunkenly decided to sleep next to her.

"Yes, one that hasn't been touched in two years. Fashion changes, you know."

Hermione looked up at him with large eyes, slightly put off by the suggestion. She could barely imagine walking in public with Draco, let alone trying on clothes with him. Dread crept into the back of her mind, telling her that the whole adventure would be a nightmare. She could already envision herself with a pile of clothes in her arms, Draco dictating to her while she speedily tries to get the whole event over with. She had never liked shopping for clothes. It took too long and her feet always hurt in the end. Draco dressed like a bloody fashionista. She already pegged him as a bloke who liked to take his time.

"I'm fine with what I have, thanks," she said finally, turning back to her meal.

"Well. I'm not." He pushed himself up from the table. Pips appeared with a _POP_ that startled Hermione, took Draco's plate, then disappeared. "Get dressed, Granger. We're going shopping."

When he left the room, Hermione almost let her face fall into her meal in a fit of exhausted annoyance.

The first shop he took her to appeared quaint from the outside, but when they entered through the front door, she was surprised to find a roomy establishment within. There were no racks holding sales, nor price tags in sight. Simply a changeroom with a small platform for models to show off their tailored garments. Lamps lit every corner, providing a rather romantic lighting that made her instantly uncomfortable. Soft, lovely sashes and drapes hung in the corners, offering a touch of humble elegance to the place. She hated how comfortable she felt when she got a whiff of the lemongrass incense was burning in the back of the shop.

" _Monsieur Malfoy!_ " A feminine voice cried out, sounding an awful lot like a French Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione cringed and was almost bulldozed out of the way from a blonde, beautiful young woman. She planted a gentle kiss on both of Malfoy's cheeks, beaming brightly with a straight, white-toothed smile. She stood a little too close to him, almost chest-to-chest, which caused Hermione to pinch her eyebrows together in confusion. The girl was taller than her, but still shorter than Malfoy, with beautiful, slim curves and pale skin. Bright blue eyes, pert nose, and plump, glossed lips.

Hermione immediately felt inadequate, just standing next to the girl. No woman could possibly be _that_ lovely without making any female in the immediate vicinity feel like some hideous dwarf.

"Bonjour, Elise," Draco replied, now holding both her hands with a charming, lopsided grin that almost looked… kind. Hermione felt a strange tightening in her gut, passing her confused gaze between the two. Could it have been possible for this girl to have a bit of Veela blood in her? Hermione wouldn't doubt it. _Elise_ certainly had all of the immediate qualities of a Veela. She had even ensnared Malfoy's attention the moment she popped into the bloody room.

"Eet 'as been too long. What brings you 'ere?" Elise asked, effectively turning her back to Hermione and cutting her out of the conversation.

"Funny you should ask." He motioned to Hermione, whose cheeks now burned bright red from being put on the spotlight. Perhaps Elise was _not_ a Veela. Draco's attention instantly fell on Hermione; too quickly for him to have been influenced by any Veela pheromone. "Elise, this is my _wife_ , Hermione. She's going to require a change in… decoration."

Promptly, Hermione plowed down the minor feeling of triumph she felt at the sudden falling of Elise's face. The Frenchwoman picked herself up rather quickly, glancing briefly to Malfoy, then back to Hermione. Her expression transformed instantly from shock to skepticism, closing in on the brown-haired witch. Elise circled Hermione, occasionally picking at the fabric of her dress, which didn't quite fit her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Malfoy's cocky smirk boring into her, pleased that someone else was putting her under this kind of scrutiny. Hermione couldn't stop the glower that etched onto her features when she met his gaze.

"I must say, Monsier Malfoy, I am… interested… in what drew you to zees girl in zee first place." Elise rounded and faced Hermione once more, silently scrutinizing her footwear, which did not match her dress at all.

Draco lied as smoothly as he breathed. "Why, her heart, of course. I can tell you now, it certainly wasn't her sense of style."

"Shove off," Hermione grumbled.

"Or her sense of humor."

Elise chuckled in a trill at that. Hermione glared viciously, jerking away when Elise attempted to touch her hair, which was getting out of hand as it grew out from its adorable, short cut. Already, she was hating this day, this life, and this _everything_.

"Per'aps you should take her to see Celeste as well… you know, Madame Malfoy…" Hermione visibly cringed at the name, then glared harder when she heard Draco trying to stifle a chortle of entertainment from her misery, "I may be intimate with fashion, but I am certainly not capable of miracles."

"Oh, come now, Elise," Draco began, reaching out to lay a hand upon the blonde's shoulder. She looked over to him in blatant admiration, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. "I'm sure the attire is only half the battle, isn't it? If anyone can work a miracle, it's you."

Elise batted her eyelashes in such a way, it genuinely upset Hermione's stomach. Hatred for Malfoy aside, this woman was positively hopeless. What self-respecting female would flirt with a married man, let alone Malfoy in general? Hermione swallowed down the bile building in her throat and folded her arms over her chest, already feeling very much like the third wheel.

"You are right, Monsieur. You make yourself at 'ome." Elise reached out, grabbing Hermione's wrist and dragging her along. "I will tend to zees _catastrophe_."

Each molasses moment in this place was an eternity.

Elise had first made Hermione strip down to the barest minimum in the changeroom so that she could take exact measurements of her body. From there, Hermione was subjected to countless tries of different outfits for every occasion that Elise designed on the spot. Using rather impressive, advanced magic, Hermione could see jackets, slacks, skirts, and blouses making themselves as she tried on everything Elise handed to her. She had been tempted to ask the blonde witch how she was able to multitask her magic so well but decided against it. Elise was rather keen on making Hermione look like a fool by offering nothing but backhanded compliments and openly flirting with her husband. If Hermione asked about her magic, Elise would likely find a way to take a stab at that as well.

The beginning was mostly everyday outerwear, which was barely tolerable. With each outfit, of course, Draco was required to approve of it prior to purchase. Hermione learned quickly that it did not seem to matter what _she_ liked. If Draco disapproved, then she was not getting it.

She further learned that Draco had the ficklest taste when it came to clothes.

She should have anticipated this. The man looked perpetually impeccable for a reason.

Now, she was merging into formal attire. Elise was buttoning up a rather revealing number – a V-neck, champagne-toned, silken-material that was gathered a bit at the waist, and with a slit that went high enough on her thigh to make Hermione incredibly self-conscious. Elise kept swatting her hands when she tried to pull it down to get some modesty from the piece.

"I must say, Madame, I am surprised zat you 'ave such a lovely figure," Elise began, turning Hermione to face her as she adjusted the straps and the cleavage. Hermione felt red tint her cheeks, feeling incredibly uncomfortable even looking at Elise. The girl was overwhelmingly beautiful. "With a man like zee Monsieur, you should be more intent on looking like a woman who deserves to be on 'is arm."

Hermione grit her teeth at that. "I don't dress for him."

Elise didn't seem to hear her, now stepping back to admire her work. Hermione's stomach growled, needing food. Nodding once, ignoring the sound, Elise reached for the curtain of the dressing room, pulling it aside and motioning for Hermione to go through. The muggleborn grumbled something unintelligible under her breath, huffed, then took her leave of the changeroom for what felt like the hundredth time, prepared for whatever insults Malfoy and Elise would subtly toss her way when they saw the final product.

She rolled her eyes the second she noticed Draco lounging on a chair with his fingers linked behind his head, eyes closed. He looked entirely relaxed to the point of needing a nap, all in the wake of her growing irritation.

Her arms folded under her breasts, unknowingly pressing them together as she glared down at him.

"If you're bored, _husband_ , we can always leave," Hermione seethed.

Draco smirked at the tone with a retort sitting right on the tip of his tongue.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten it the moment he opened his eyes.

His jaw clamped shut, clenching hard enough for her to see the muscles working in it. Cold silver raked over the champagne number, lingering on the slit, which made her leg look incredibly enticing. The dip of her cleavage was equally as magnetic, making him press his tongue into his cheek. Each delightful curve was deliciously accentuated, making him feel more ravenous by the second.

By the time he met her gaze again, his eyes were hungry, dropping to her mouth as she worried her lower lip.

He had looked at her naked before, but he was studious and calmly contemplative. He had looked shocked when she wore her wedding dress. Trying on different outfits, he seemed bored with each one, confirming and denying simply and curtly. She hadn't seen _this_ look before. This look was narrowed and strained, as though he were torn between a fit of rage and a fit of passion. Hell, she felt more exposed in this moment than she had when she was naked. Her cheeks grew hot and the room was suddenly stifling. She found herself incapable of looking anywhere but him, a mixture of fear and curiosity flashing across her large brown eyes as her teeth dug deeper into the skin of her plump lips.

Elise had rounded the small platform, grinning happily and clapping her hands together once, commending the finished product.

"Mon dieu! C'est magnifique!" Elise giggled happily, hopping a little on the spot. "What do you zink, Monsieur? I 'ave worked a miracle, oui?"

Coming to his senses, Draco blinked, then nodded curtly, still refusing to take his paralyzing gaze from her. He swallowed hard, momentarily devoid of speech.

"Indeed, you have, Elise. Lovely work."

Hermione felt a shiver of something petrifyingly _strange_ ripping along her spine and slamming deep into her tailbone. Something tingled from the make of his voice, which sounded something akin to silk raking over gravel. Ripping.

" _Formidable_! I will add it to zee collection." Elise moved to make her way back to the changeroom to help Hermione out of her dress.

Hermione said nothing, forcing herself to turn her back on Draco's piercing stare as she turned on her heel and trudged back through the curtain, more in panic than frustration.

 _What the hell._

Hermione felt instantly out of breath when she hid in the belly of the changeroom again. Her palms splayed over the bunching of silk over her tummy, trying to stop the agitation from seeping into her limbs. Something about the way he assessed her, desperate and ravenous, had effectively sucked the air right out of her lungs. She managed to convince herself that it was fear; that she was hungry and hadn't been sleeping well, and that Malfoy was a rather intimidating presence in general, and that's why she wasn't able to breathe when he looked at her like he was going to tear her apart in the most carnal way.

She assessed herself in the full-length mirror again, lightly running her fingers over the silken fabric of the plunging V-neck. It certainly made her look… different. Was that what made Malfoy's resolve momentarily slip? She worried her lower lip and closed her eyes, stealing in a deep breath as she heard the side-door for the changeroom open. Her palms smoothed over her hips, enjoying the material one last time before she needed to remove the thing.

A hard gasp tore from her when she opened her lids and caught Malfoy staring back at her in the mirror. She whipped around to face him with her heart suddenly hammering in her chest.

"Malfoy, what—"

"Shut up, Granger."

Her mouth fell open, but when she registered the daunting look in his eyes once more, she clamped it shut. He stepped forward, she stepped back, and with the tightness of the space, her back instantly met the wall, making her jump and squeak. Swallowing hard, Hermione had nothing left to do but stare up at him with a wildly confused visage. She could feel his breath washing over her face, minty and hot.

She watched his gaze traverse her from head to toe, closing in with a fearlessness that floored her. He stepped closer, slicing through the distance between them with a smoothness in his step that made her regard him as some sort of predator, making her feel terrifyingly like the prey. When his breath washed over her face again, she held her breath and slammed her eyes shut, willing the moment away, along with the strange sensations coursing through her body.

She did not realize how hard she was shaking until he reached for her.

His touch was gentler than she had ever known it, drawing up from the backs of her hands and tracing ley lines to her shoulders that made her shiver. She had never been touched like _this_ before. With Viktor, his touch had been assertive, and she had little interest in the forcefulness of his kisses. He also had a tendency to pay attention to the most obvious areas of a woman that would attract a man, and being who she was at fifteen, she did not grant him many chances to explore. She was too self-conscious at that time. When she had dated Ron, his own touches were inexperienced at best, usually fumbling or grabbing too hard, which made her uncomfortable enough to push him away. Most of the time, she felt like he was giving her mouth a shower. He also had a knack for constantly asking her if she was enjoying herself when he kissed her, which only made her attraction dwindle entirely.

This was different. _So different_.

Her knees suddenly felt weak and it was impossible to suppress the goosebumps that rose up in the wake of his touch. She was short of breath by the time his long fingers fanned over her collarbone, then drew down, following the plunging V-neck of the silk material. He watched with a satisfied gleam in his darkening eyes as she melted from the most meager exploration. Without shame, the digits roved over the hills of her breasts, teasing her cleavage but avoiding the sensitive peaks, still following the silken edge. He watched as she sucked in a breath and her eyelids fluttered. Her chest rose and fell, calling his attention to the freckles that subtly peppered the skin of her shoulders, but never her chest.

She glanced down in utter shock to watch his hands.

"No. Look at me," Draco commanded in a voice so low, it practically forced her attention back on him.

Good. He wanted her to see who was touching her this way.

It paid off. Her wide eyes traveled back up to him, her chest now heaving as his hands swept skillfully over her sides, committing the curves of her to memory. He took a moment to revel in the tremors that raked through her body, making her look as innocent as a newborn foal. Her eyes were searching his face for answers she would never find. His eyes had nothing but dark, deep-seeded want that had no room for honesty, merely a desire to play, to consume, and to corrupt.

He tilted his head forward, lips now inching towards her own. Her skull shrank against the wall in fruitless effort to pull back, ignoring the piece of her that screamed for her to tilt her head back up to him.

 _Oh goodness, he's going to kiss me… oh god, oh god, ohgodohgodohgod!_

He didn't kiss her. Not yet. Instead, his lips hung on the precipice, just over her own. Phantoms ghosted over the flesh of her mouth, teasing the edges to make them soften. She had expected him to crash down on her, and when he didn't, she could not decide what torture was worse. She was still as he brushed tentatively, seeming only keen on tasting the air she breathed, which had effectively been torn from her lungs.

Suddenly, something invisible slammed into her gut, making it twist. It was the very same thing that rendered her completely immobile; the same thing that made her feel so painfully empty with this contact sitting so close, yet so far.

 _Loneliness_.

God. She felt _lonely_. Instantly, the stab that made her empty stomach ache shifted swiftly to her heart, and she still never fought back. She let him explore, let him experience, and let him drink in the sweet scent of her through the lemongrass incense pervading the air. This kind of loneliness sucked the air so hard out of her lungs, she was a hairsbreadth away from kissing him just to get it back. Solitude made the human mind so crazily hazy that fighting against a force as surprisingly passionate as Draco Malfoy was like trying to walk away from the very gates of Heaven.

 _You're losing it, Hermione._

One hand dipped boldly low, slipping idly inside the slit in the teasing garment to draw small circles on the outside of her thigh. Hermione hadn't even realized it, now paying painful attention to the closeness of his mouth. In a moment of sheer curiosity, he smoothly flicked the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, craving the subtlest taste. It made the air slink from the room entirely, rushing from her lungs in a hard wave as she realized with growing fear, the real effect he was having on her body.

 _It's too late to get it back now_.

Fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of her thigh, making her muscles tense. His gaze flickered over her face one last time before he closed the distance, slanting his mouth over her own and imprisoning her in a searing lock. The hand hidden beneath the slit grew bold, cupping a cheek in a possessive way that made another squeak rip from the edge of her tongue, swallowed by his mouth. He eased her lips apart so smoothly, she hadn't even realized she was complying.

He felt her sigh into his lips just then, and he growled right back, dipping a hungry tongue tentatively into her mouth, only to withdraw it immediately when he got the finest taste of her. She bit back a whimper, and shuddered when it made a strangled, choked sound in her throat. Her hands were relaxed at her sides, limp noodles, unsure of their existence. Her knees were buckling, and when she began to slump, he curved his brave hand from cheek, to her ribs, to her waist, and finally, to the underside of her thigh, rucking it up to hug his waist.

This jostling split her from the haze. Her eyes snapped open wide when she felt something rock hard and overwhelmingly thick pressing flush against her stomach. She tore her mouth away from his, trying to speak, to get him off, to make the room breathable again. She was cut off with words dying in her throat as he chose an alternate route, trailing delicious kisses along her jaw. He even nipped at a sensitive spot under her ear that coaxed the most astonishing sensations into her abdomen, making her clench and shudder, feeling empty.

The feeling shot her into action. Her limbs regained their muscles. Her hands shot up to press against his chest. With a surprising amount of strength, she shoved him back. Because he was much bigger than her, she wasn't able to send him stumbling, but she had managed to get him away from her neck.

He was now looking down at her with a shocked, genuinely confused expression, breathing hard, minty air over her face. His fingers still gripped her thigh, thumb stroking flesh of its own accord.

"Get off me," Hermione breathed, surprised that she had managed to make her tone sound so firm, despite the effect he was having on her.

If he looked confused before, he didn't now. The words had almost made him appear angry. In a split-second, his visage steeled, making her more nervous.

She jumped when he dug fingers deep into her thigh and could have sworn that she would have bruises when he released her. His other hand raked firmly up her body, between her breasts, and fisted into her hair, jerking her head upwards. She had nowhere to look except at him, and the touch she had come to know as firm and gentle had suddenly become painful and sharp. A confusing jumble of fear and hormones rooted in her abdomen, which fluttered, much to her horrified surprise.

"This isn't over, Granger," he hissed.

He was out the side-door before she even realized she had been released. As it closed behind him, she gave into the jelly effect of her legs and slumped to the floor of the changeroom.

They had abandoned Elise's shop quickly, but not before Draco had pulled her to the side and – in his words – asked her for a few side orders that he thought would spruce up her wardrobe. Hermione avoided asking what the items were, as she was rather keen on keeping a safe distance from him. She had even jumped when he grabbed her hand and dragged her from the shop, demanding to get lunch.

She didn't doubt he was starved. Terrorizing people must have worked up an appetite. Still, she refused to argue, or even utter a single syllable, even as they reached the restaurant he'd picked for lunch.

Hermione had thought that going to lunch would put her spirits at ease. He hadn't spoken to her since they sat down. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to look at her. He was staring off into space, consumed by his own thoughts. Likely thinking up a new mode of torture, she considered, keeping her eyes on her own plate.

She had crossed her legs, uncomfortable with the dissatisfied feeling clawing at the base of her belly – the one that commanded rather intimate thoughts to invade her brain. Suddenly, the silence between them was just as stifling as the changeroom she had found herself in moments ago, if not moreso.

Why the hell had he kissed her? Was he trying to initiate first contact and get her warmed up for the duties they needed to fulfill? If so, why? He knew she was barren – which made her cringe still – and he knew that nothing productive could come of it. Considering this, Hermione took into account the Marriage Law, which forbade any form of infidelity. Perhaps that was why he was so eager to pin her to the changeroom wall. He couldn't very well go for a willing slag like Elise, who still batted her eyelashes at him, even as he stormed from the shop with Hermione dragging behind him. The only sexually viable option he had now was her. Yes, that must have been it. She was all he had for gratification now, and the thought alone disgusted and terrified her. This realization didn't make the silence any more bearable, and it did not quell the unsettling feeling of loneliness that she had discovered when he had her in his arms moments ago.

Draco could already tell that the gears in her mind were churning at a rapid rate. She always picked at her food when she was thinking, which irritated him. Now and then, he could feel her eyes snapping up to him, assessing him, only to return to her plate and let the metal of her fork scrape against the porcelain.

Even he was chiding himself for having kissed her. It was an all-consuming need that cropped up at the most inconvenient time. He had awoken this morning with renewed vigor, intent on demolishing her entire day. In a way, he had succeeded, but in the process, he had burned himself. That damned dress had become his whole undoing. Before he could process and get himself under control, he had her thrust against the wall of that bloody changeroom, digging into the mine of her mouth, striking gold with every flicker of his tongue. Even though he'd eaten, there was a lingering taste of her that threatened to consume him.

 _Get over yourself. It was just a dress._

It was even worse when she denied him his pleasures, pushing him away and commanding his resistance in such a tone that was too composed. She shouldn't have been that composed, not after he had spent a decent amount of time ravaging her with the intent of turning her whole mind to mush. No girl who had experienced that side of him had ever been able to deny him anything. Yet, here was his _wife_ , pushing him back with an impressive amount of upper body strength.

He was still aching from unfinished business. It was unbearable to the point where he fought the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat on more than one occasion during their meal. This was why he refused to look at her. Not that he had no restraint. He had plenty of restraint and had proven that fact to himself and to her on more than one occasion. He simply knew that looking at her mouth – which was probably still red and full from his avid attentions – would only make sitting across from her even less comfortable.

"Malfoy."

Her voice jerked him from his reverie, forcing him to assess her with cold, distant eyes.

"What," he snapped.

Hermione visibly stiffened, glancing briefly down at her plate as though she were second-guessing saying anything further. When she mumbled something he couldn't decipher, he rolled his eyes.

"Speak up, Granger."

She shot a glare at him, her spine bristling with renewed confidence.

"I was asking why we were here."

"I thought that much would be obvious. I was hungry," he replied, taking another bite of his food.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Malfoy, I mean… why the charade? We aren't happily married, nor do we want to be. You're just in this to torment me anyway, so… why play house in front of someone like Elise? Why the new clothes? Why the games? Why—" _kiss me? WHY kiss me?_

She clamped her mouth shut, reconsidering her approach. "I just mean that, if all you want is my misery… then… why lie about it to everyone else?"

Draco went eerily silent, letting his eyes roam freely over her face. He had anticipated that she would ask him why he kissed her, yet she threw out a question that he had been asking himself this whole time. In the grand scheme of things, buying her clothes could have been excused as a way to jerk her out of her comfort zone, but after that moment in the changeroom, the argument felt painfully feeble. Acting like a happily-married couple in front of someone like Elise was little more than a jab at Granger, as he enjoyed watching her squirm when addressed as _Madame Malfoy_. The games were more for his entertainment, although his last _game_ had almost made him crash and burn on the spot.

To an extent, she was right. Tormenting her for the sake of tormenting her was one thing, but playing the happy husband and wife left a different taste in his mouth. This could have been the aftereffect of tasting _her_ , which still had his mind reeling.

Not that Draco hadn't considered what it would be like to be intimate with her. They had been in too many compromising positions for his mind not to wander towards more carnal desires. He hadn't anticipated this, though. One bloody kiss and the witch was already muddling things in his head, turning them about. He even found himself unable to parry, feint, or give her a dignified response.

"Eat, Granger," Draco finally snapped, pushing his plate away. "I'm bored of this place."

Shocked by the abrupt end in conversation, Hermione clamped her mouth shut. A part of her was relieved not to get a response, which was a rush she clung to as she wordlessly turned back to her meal.

Draco had left her behind when they returned to the property. Having his jaw clenched in silence the whole time, his cheeks were beginning to ache. She seemed mildly surprised that he was so eager to vacate the premises, and he could have sworn he saw her mouth open briefly to ask him where he was going. He abandoned the residence before she was able to grill him with her curiosity, finding the presence of her stifling.

All he knew was that he needed to get away – away from the day, away from the situation, away from the temptation of _her_. Not even twenty-four hours into his refreshed state of mind and she was already beginning to gum up the works. He needed a reminder; something to solidify the ground that he found crumbling beneath him with every passing second. An earthquake erupted when he had kissed her, he felt himself slipping, and he needed to mend the ground, lest he be swallowed whole.

Unbelievable, really. After two years of hunting her down, only to have his plans come to fruition, he found every step he took faltering. Two years of planning every mode of torment right down to the very second, and with each step he took to enact his fantasies, the ground was trembling under him, warning him to tread lightly. This was not how it was supposed to go.

"Mister Malfoy," a snaggle-toothed guard named Gerard greeted him with a wary gaze, turning his chin upwards as he approached the blonde wizard. "Back so soon? I'm surprised y'didn't bring yer wife this time 'round."

"Just get him for me," Malfoy snapped back, stuffing a handful of gold into the guard's filthy fingers. "Now."

Gerard said nothing more, stuffing the gold into his pocket before he turned on his heel and sauntered along the narrow hall of Azkaban, disappearing into its depths.

Draco was led into the very same room, as he was so many times before this moment. The first time had been the hardest, as Lucius' mind was only just beginning to slip. Over the two-year lapse, he progressively worsened, which only made Draco visit him more. After the loss of his mother, he needed something familiar, and Lucius' bottomless disdain was enough negative energy to feed the whole damn planet with malice. Draco lapped it up like the good little Death Eater, letting it fuel him forward.

Now, Draco was expressionless as he stared his father down, barely tensing as Lucius' head hung low, with scraggly hair falling into his eyes. Once so proud, now in ruin. Draco waited, ankle resting idly on his knee, slouching in his seat, waiting for the eruption of rage from the Malfoy patriarch.

"Father."

The call made Lucius' head snap up. To quell the shock from his sudden motion, Draco linked his fingers together over his stomach. White-knuckling the grip, which Lucius did not notice.

"You… _you_ …" Lucius' head tilted, then shook from side to side. Sordid attempts to quell the insanity. Voices in his head. It was coming. The official fallout of structure and lucidity. Draco braced himself. "Sick… sick, twisted… marrying that—that _thing_ … THING!"

Draco's jaw clenched. For once, he resisted the urge to jump from the outburst, gripping his fingers tightly, appearing completely relaxed. The more he faked the posture, the louder the shouts became, and the more Draco found comfort in the screeches. Eventually, each word poured into his eardrums became a mantra. His shoulders relaxed, his knuckles returned to their natural, pale pallor, and he sank into the moment with the tenderness of a son heeding his father's sound advice.

 _Your hour's not up yet, Granger. Make yourself comfortable…_

"SHAME! POISONING THE WELL! I SEE YOU! FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR! HOW DARE YOU SIT BEFORE A MAN OF MEANS! SHAME! SHAME!" Lucius' voice rolled off the walls in deafening screeches. Draco steeled his expression, paying less mind to the words and more attention to the hysteria of his father's deteriorating mind. His cold eyes flashed up at the patriarch, feeling a black determination working its way back into his veins. It wasn't the same as the injection of venom he had taken a few days prior, when he had returned home reeking of booze, unable to even look at Granger, but it was enough to give him a stiffer spine. "WAIT UNTIL YOUR MOTHER HEARS ABOUT THIS! ROLLING IN THE DEEP WITH A MUDBLOOD-FUCKING SON! RIPPING BLEEDING HALF-BLOOD BASTARDS FROM THE WOMB! MOTHER WILL PAY FOR HER LENIENCY! LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU! SHAME! SHAME! SHAAAME!"

 _It's what I always do._

Draco felt his heart leap into his throat at the mention of his mother. He had reminded Lucius several times of her passing, but upon her departure from this world, his memory had begun to fail too miserably. He couldn't retain much of anything. At least, until Draco had informed him that he had married Hermione Granger. Shocking, to think that the man could forget the death of his wife, but the marrying of a mudblood took precedence. Draco merely shuddered inwardly at the thought.

Priorities.

So, he remained, until his father had screamed himself hoarse, and broke down into his seat with a defeated, pathetic sob. The brokenness of the man who once stood so tall seeped deep into Draco's bones, offering just enough strength to pick himself up from his seat. He found his venom again, and it had dragged his mood to the lowest point, reminding him of his goal.

A kiss changed nothing. He had lost his whole family because of that bitch.

With his intentions clear, he left the room and strove home with distant eyes, a heavy heart, and two clenched fists.


	10. Running After Cars To Get Home

**RUNNING AFTER CARS TO GET HOME**

* * *

 _Be to her, Persephone,  
all the things I cannot be:  
take her head upon your knee._

* * *

Pips had been the one to wake her. Hermione had roused from a deep, unpleasant slumber with wide, tennis-ball eyes blinking widely down at her, almost shocking her out of bed in panic. Apparently, she had slept in, and Draco had ordered Pips to rouse her.

With a kink in her neck, she decided to take a shower before heading down for breakfast. She had tossed and turned most of the night, after going to bed at a very late hour. Something about Draco's sudden disappearance had, much to her shock, concerned her. Even when she had climbed into bed with the clock on the wall signifying the dwindling hour of three in the morning, she heard no sounds of his return. She had tried to keep her eyes open long enough to read a few more pages of her new book, but soon found herself passed out with the weight of it on her chest. The awkward position was probably why her neck was so stiff, which she had decided to massage roughly while standing under the heat of the running water.

Hermione was even less pleased to find Draco looking immaculate as ever while she crossed the threshold of the dining room, sitting herself down in the chair furthest from him, as usual. He didn't look up from his copy of the Daily Prophet, which unnerved her slightly. She could feel the muscles in her jaw twitching as she watched him turn the pages, sussing out the wrinkles in the flimsy fold while finishing a hearty bite of his food. His long fingers curled delicately around the edges, as though he had been in this place with her the whole time; like he had never left her alone the night before.

Her curiosity was clawing into her throat, begging her to ask him where he had disappeared to, and why. He seemed so stoic and removed after their conversation at lunch the day before, like there was something about the whole confrontation that had unnerved him enough to pretend nothing happened. It heightened her anxiety far more than any other stunt he had pulled. Still, she managed to swallow down the question with a mouthful of orange juice, which clashed heavily with the minty aftermath of brushing her teeth. She forced it all into her gut with a cringing swallow, thankful as her plate filled with food from Pips' unknown whereabouts.

She had tried to keep her eyes on her own plate, but the moving pictures on the Prophet were terribly distracting. Unable to slake her curiosity for his whereabouts, she substituted the desire for knowledge with a quick glance at the front page.

 _MINISTRY STRIKE CONTINUES_

Huh.

Hermione wondered when the strike ever began, furrowing her eyebrows in contemplation. The mere mention of the Ministry got her blood boiling, as well as her stomach clenching with a fiery desire to see her friends again. Ever since the kiss she and Draco had shared, she could not remember a time when loneliness was so potent in her veins. Already, there was an empty, sharp pang in her gut that made her pay special attention to the distance the table kept between her and another living, breathing human being.

Draco would never condone straight contact with her best friends, she knew, but there was an inkling in the back of her mind that told her he might be more lenient with the idea of sending them a letter. After all, Harry and Ron were likely bashing fists against the doors of the Manor, intent on knowing if she was alright. If she knew anything about her friends, it was that they cared enough to go to the ends of the earth to make sure she was alright. She also doubted that Draco would want them bothering him at all hours. Perhaps she could sway him into permitting a few caring words on parchment.

Draco ruffled the paper, abruptly closing it and shooting a sharp glare in her direction, which snapped her out of her thoughts. Their eyes met, hers wide open, his narrowed and cold. She froze mid-chew, realizing that she had probably been staring at him this whole time. Slowly, she leaned back and swallowed what was in her mouth, shrugging helplessly.

"What?"

"You were staring. That entranced, are you?" He quirked a brow. A smirk played on his lips. Hermione stiffened.

"Hardly. I was just curious about the strike at the Ministry."

Draco's eyes narrowed on her. He knew Granger. Her even mentioning the Ministry meant that there was a chance of her snooping. He waved off the comment nonchalantly.

"Why? It's boring. Workers demanding raises and all that rubbish," he said, sliding the paper aside. He dug deeper into his breakfast, which made Hermione look at him curiously before turning back to her own plate.

"I've almost finished reading everything in the library here," she began.

"Already?" Draco glanced up to her. "We've been here about a week."

"Yes, and I've spent most of my time here _alone_. Or avoiding you. Reading helps." She shrugged. "But I'm running out of things to read."

"Ask Pips to get you books from the Manor, then."

Her eyes narrowed. "I _would_ like some freedom, Malfoy."

"I thought I made it rather clear that wasn't going to happen. What you'd like and what I have planned for you are two very different things."

Yet here they were, rehashing the exact same thing over, and over, and over again. Draco always did hate repeating himself, but Granger never seemed to notice. She took him digging his heels into the ground as a sign to keep tugging until she got what she wanted. Unstoppable force, immovable object. He was coming to the realization that until he budged even a fraction, she was going to keep nagging him.

She was really taking this _wife_ role to heart, wasn't she?

He all but scoffed at the idea.

"What about my friends?" _Now_ he laughed. She glared hard at him. "Do you really think that when we get back to the Manor, they're just going to leave us in marital misery? Harry's an Auror. He has every right to burst through your front door and demand to see me if he doesn't know I'm safe. Do you really want them making your life hell just because you won't even let me write them to tell them I'm alright?"

Draco's laughter died down to meager chuckles, and by the time she finished speaking, he was still smirking. The thought of Potter and Weasel barging through his wards and wreaking havoc on his home did irk him, but he wasn't going to display that concern to Granger, who already believed she had the upper hand. He leaned back in his seat, narrowing his eyes with a mischievous gleam, linking his fingers over his stomach casually. He made himself comfortable as he considered her request.

"Alright, Granger, I'll make you a deal," he began, leaning forward in his seat. He relaxed his elbows on the table, now looking downright sinister. "Depending on how you play it, I might actually say yes to this little request."

Hermione glared at him, folding her arms over her chest. Her cheeks went red as she considered the dangers of making a deal with the devil, but she was still thinking about it, which tickled Draco to no end. His smirk became more prominent when she released a helpless sigh and rolled her eyes.

"What's the deal?" She gritted out.

"You tell me _why_ your parents are in Australia, and if the story is entertaining enough, I'll let you write a letter to your puppies."

The color promptly drained from her face. Her eyes widened.

Now he'd done it. He tried to stop the twitch of pride that swelled in his chest from getting to her so easily. The question had been housed in the back of his mind for quite some time, and he had been waiting for the opportune moment to get an answer from her. Though he doubted he would get one now, considering the immediate mode of defense her body adapted, he could, at the very least, garner some morning entertainment from whatever outburst that followed.

He watched with morbid fascination as her spine went rigid and the emotions flashed across her dilating pupils.

Shock, fear, sadness, anger, anger, anger… _hurt_.

He faltered, but only for a moment, watching as tears began welling in her eyes. Her nails scratched along the surface of the table in the feeblest attempts to disguise the sadness creeping along her throat, which she promptly swallowed. Draco had not been anticipating this. Chords were struck, but he foresaw the chucking of silverware and plates in the heat of a rage he could easily overcome.

"How…" She clamped her mouth shut after uttering the word and he appeared confused. She couldn't speak without bursting into tears. She gulped hard and tried again. "How _dare you_ ask me something like that. You might know where my parents are, but… but you have n—no right to ask me about them. None. _Absolutely no right_."

"You and your little friends never seemed to have trouble taking pot shots at _my_ parents, Granger. It was a simple question."

She shoved herself up from the table, hands sprawled on its surface. She seemed torn between running and screaming and crying; like she was about to explode into a mess around him. It was making him uncomfortable. He watched as a few tears slipped from their ducts and rolled seamlessly along her cheeks. He never handled crying women well.

"Don't do anything drastic, Granger," Draco warned, adopting a hard glare as he stood as well. "You _will_ regret it."

She stiffened further, unable to trust her voice in anything above a whisper. She gritted through it, but she was still positive he could hear her.

"Believe me when I say: _nothing_ is more regrettable than your very existence, Malfoy."

"Oh, I must've _really_ touched a nerve, didn't I?" He seethed back, feeling his hands form fists against the solid surface of the table. "Let's inspect this a little more. I went to see your parents, who seemed to have absolutely _no_ idea who you were."

Her eyes widened. "Y—you… you _spoke to them_?"

"Well, how else would I know they weren't even aware of their bushy-haired daughter's existence?"

Something shook the table; an invisible rumble. Her magic was getting out of hand, temper rising, but he hardly cared. Let her make objects fly around the room, let her stab him with a fork by accident. He didn't care. He was used to violence. He responded better to rage than to tears.

"How dare you! They are not a part of this, Malfoy. They didn't need to… how could you… you ruined _everything_!"

"Relax, Granger, it's not like I told them who _you_ were. I just asked them a few harmless questions. What's the big deal?" He rounded the corner of the table just then, pressing closer to her. The silverware rattled loudly on the surface of the table as her rage grew. Let the path to destruction begin. "Are you angry that I spoke to them? Are you angry that I was able to witness them in their bright, happy prime? Are you angry that they're just as content without you in their lives? Or… are you just so overwhelmed by the pathetic longing you have to be close to the only people in this world who have ever truly accepted you?"

"Shut up."

"I don't think I will." He approached her, swiftly reaching out to clasp her wrist and whip her around to face him fully. He caught her slap mid-air, holding it firmly in his grip. He kissed his teeth, sneering down at her. "Granger, you're so violent."

"I can be so much more," she bit out, shooting him a murderous look. "Don't you _ever_ mention them again—"

"You don't tell me what to do. You know that."

"For goodness sake, let me _go_ —"

"What did I _just_ say?"

"Get _off_!"

The force whipped into him with enough force to shoot him off his feet and slam directly into the wall behind him. He reminded himself as he slid to the floor that he had wanted this – this _reminder_. He had asked for the agony the very second the bargain left his lips, though he smarted when his head cracked hard enough against the wall to make him irreparably dizzy and tired. His brain knocked about in his head and he sank further to the floor, unaware of the small hands reaching for him, or the broken voice calling for him.

Hermione panicked, grabbing Malfoy's shoulders as the blow to his head catapulted him into unconsciousness. God, what had she _done_? She attacked him! No matter the harsh things Malfoy might have said or done, she couldn't quell the instant shame and guilt she felt in seeing him flop helplessly to the floor. Even _he_ had never resorted to such violence. What gave _her_ the right?

"Malfoy? Malfoy!" She didn't realize that she was crying as she hesitantly reached for his face, lightly tapping his cheek. He mumbled something she couldn't understand, but never came to. "Malfoy, I need you to wake up. Wake up, _please_! Please wake up!"

When she garnered no response, she gripped his shoulders again, tugging him forward so his head fell against her arm. She could see no red seeping into his platinum blonde hair. _No concussion_ , she concluded in panicked thought.

For a moment, she looked wildly around her for something – _anything_ – to help him.

 _Wand. Look for his wand._

She pushed him back against the wall, grunting from his weight, and began to frisk his form. She found his wand tucked into his sock, jerking it free as she stood on shaken legs.

 _Take it! Take it and run!_

She froze, gripping the wand tightly in her hand. She blinked, shocked at her own thoughts.

 _Run now!_

 _ **They'll find me.**_

 _Not if you're smart, and you_ _are_ _smart. Now, run!_

 _ **No. I can't just—**_

 _Just what? Leave him? He would've left you._

For a moment, she considered this. Had their places switched, he might have left her, but there was a doubt in her mind that reminded her of their wedding day. The moment she swooned from the overwhelming magic in her ring, he had swept her up to St. Mungo's. When he saw her after a battering ram of tests, he had swept her up again and taken her from the wretched place.

 _ **He wouldn't.**_

 _You can still run._

 _ **I can't… I just can't…**_

 _Why the bloody hell not?_

 _ **Because I'm tired!**_

Her mind went quiet, suddenly clear as her gaze returned to Malfoy's unconscious form.

She was tired of running. So tired, in fact, that she was willing to put up with this hell, just so she could have the slightest hint of rest. She was alright here. Malfoy's antics aside, she had food, shelter, and clothes on her back. She had spent too many years of her life running, hiding, and pushing her body to its limits. There had been no rest for her. She just needed to… stop. She needed to breathe.

She needed to find her strength again.

Hermione dragged a heap of air into her lungs, then expelled it, urging her magic through the wand, which only protested so much before it succumbed to her.

 _Swish and flick_.

" _Wingardium leviosa._ "

Draco's body lifted from the floor, hanging limp in the air. Hermione dragged him up the steps and into his bedroom, then got to work on fixing her mistake.

* * *

 _She that was so proud and wild,  
flippant, arrogant, and free._

* * *

Draco groaned as he felt a surge run through him, bringing him back to reality. His eyes blinked open and his head was killing him. His brain pounded mercilessly against the walls of his skull, skin buzzing uncomfortably. He was surprised to feel the cushion of his large bed under his body, sinking into the duvet. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he readied himself to sit upright, but he stopped and his eyes snapped open when he felt the pressure of a small hand on his chest.

"Malfoy, no… you… you took a hard hit. You shouldn't move so fast."

Granger?

He looked up at her, letting his eyes refocus on her. Her hair was looking messier than usual, tear streaks dried on her cheeks, and she was looking at him with… worry? Draco groaned again, refusing to touch on the emotion flitting across her face as he sank back into the softness of his bed.

"Granger… would've thought you'd kick up dust the second I was out."

"I considered it, believe me."

"So why didn't you?" He looked at her again, gaze sharp despite his pounding head. He watched her cheeks go red. Not even a few seconds awake, and he was already getting on her nerves. Excellent.

"I'm not like you, remember?"

 _C'mon, Granger… even I know you're not_ _ **that**_ _cold. You're not like me._

"Quite the testament," he grumbled in annoyance, reaching up to rub one of his temples. "Should've called _you_ the Saint, not Potter."

"What?"

"Nevermind," he ground out. Merlin, his body was aching. He closed his eyes and winced as he tried to get himself comfortable again. "That was a hell of a hit, Granger."

He heard a soft rush of air sweep through her. Was it a laugh?

"Yeah… sorry about that."

What?

His eyes cracked open, regarding her skeptically. "For losing control, or for almost killing me?"

"Both, I suppose," Hermione managed, swallowing hard under the scrutiny of his gaze. "No matter what you've done to me, it doesn't excuse something like that."

 _A Malfoy doesn't apologize, he never forgives, and he never forgets_.

She was certainly turning the franchise around.

Draco shifted again, now uncomfortable and feeling trapped. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to get up and leave the room, but he knew that his body would give out the second he got on his feet. In all his life, nobody had ever apologized to him in a manner so open and vulnerable. She was openly ashamed of her own actions, and proverbially groveling because of them. He hated that. It presented him with an emotional obligation that left an awful taste in his mouth.

"Whatever, Granger." He waved it off, reverting to closing his eyes and rubbing his temples once again. He wondered how long it would be before this pain ebbed away; before he could brush her off, stand tall, and storm out. "Don't lose your bloody mind over it."

She went silent, letting out a long sigh.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, brilliant," he grumbled back, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. "Not like my head's pounding or anything. Perfectly sound. Never better."

"I couldn't find any potions for your headache. I asked Pips to check the Manor and he hasn't come back yet."

"Ruddy elf's gonna be the death of me. Berry's probably holding him up."

There was the laugh again, but this time it was bolder. It sounded like a trill; a light, airy concoction of feminine notes. It made his headache rage and ring. She needed to stop laughing.

"He's certainly a troublemaker," she said, peering down at him in curiosity. "Has he always been like that?"

"Since I was a boy, pretty much. Should've seen him on my birthdays. I'd always convince him to bring me an early piece of cake when the clock struck midnight."

"So he's had some experience, then." Draco looked over at her, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Hermione rolled her eyes. "He snuck me a piece of angel cake at the Manor. Apparently _Batty Berry_ was rather contrite with him after that."

Draco couldn't stop the scoff that escaped him. "Those two haven't stopped their war since I was seven and Pips made Berry fall head-first into a full mop bucket."

Another trill of laughter.

 _Stop_ _ **doing that**_ _!_

He glared over at her and she brought a hand up to her mouth, realizing that her outburst probably wasn't helping his headache. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat, trying her best to remind herself of the company she was in. Her hand fell back into her lap.

Silence closed in around them, feeling thick. Hermione's eyes traveled over him, genuinely shocked to have just had a common conversation with this man. Oddly, there was a mild hope blossoming in her chest, praying to keep this momentum. Something good could come of this. She wasn't sure what, but she needed to keep it, just for a little longer.

 _Because you're lonely._

 _ **No, I'm not. I'm tired.**_

 _Books only do so much, don't they? You need human contact. You need people._

 _ **I don't need anything**_ _._

"I read about the strike at the Ministry," she confessed, looking back down at her hands when she felt his eyes on her again. "I didn't know the protests were so… dangerous."

Draco suddenly felt the need to leave again. He hardly wanted to fill Granger in on everything she had missed in the last two years. She had read the Prophet, which he had tried his best to keep from her, which meant she was more informed than he wanted her to be.

"Yeah… they're getting worse, too," he mumbled, trying to keep the conversation closed.

Of course, she didn't listen.

"So what you were saying was true before? People actually did this because of…"

 _Did they do this because of me?_

"Partially." She was shocked to actually get an answer from him. He sighed heavily, clearing his throat as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples again. "You know most of the story already. Riots, protests, attacks on the Ministry, all in your bloody honor."

"But I don't know why Kingsley didn't abolish the law, though. If it's gotten this bad, surely enough is enough?"

"I already told you, Kingsley's a nutter. Not too sure what you remember of him, but that power went to his head. He thinks the population's dying, he's too stubborn to call in outside help because he doesn't want to look weak to international powers, and he likes having this control over Britain."

"For someone who utilized Kingsley to get my hand in marriage, you don't sound too convinced of his plight." Hermione's gaze narrowed.

"Why would I? It's idiotic. Except for the _international relations_ part. That part I get."

"How so?"

"Well, if outer powers get wind that England's got a weak spot, there could be a bigger war than the one against You-Know-Who… and we'd lose, because we don't have the numbers."

She murmured a small 'oh' and looked back down to her lap. Draco looked curiously at her.

"Still, it's a little ridiculous. The population isn't dying out anymore. Why not just let nature run its course?"

Draco shrugged. "Too late to consider that now."

"You could always fight against it, though."

Draco laughed. He openly laughed. It didn't last long, because his head was thrumming, but the comment was too funny to pass up. Him? Fight? Become an outcast like that wretched group of protestors? Hysterical! Draco never fought in the war, not officially. He did what he was told to do until he was able to slink through the back door and run for his bloody life. He wasn't a warrior, and he never desired becoming one.

"I'm serious!" She exclaimed, looking affronted. Draco's laughter died down.

"Granger, why would I bother? I got what I came for. Let the pillocks tear each other apart. It's none of my business."

"You fought well enough to find me," she said in a smaller voice, shifting. "Though I still don't fully understand why. I'm not exactly a commodity in your eyes."

"We went over _why_ I was hunting for you."

"No, we didn't."

He looked at her again with confusion. They _had_ gone over this before, hadn't they? He distinctly recalled the first time she stepped through his door and he had barred her against it, telling her something about ripping her wings off. That was more explanation than he intended on giving her.

"You said you wanted to make me go mad, like I made _him_ go mad. You did all this because of him, right? Your father?"

He glared hard. "Leave my father out of this—"

"You brought up my parents—"

"You chucked me into a wall because of it, too."

"Dammit, Malfoy, I'm not looking to insult your father." She looked like she was getting worked up, but not in an angry or irritated way. She looked like she had when he first mentioned her parents.

"Go on, then," he ground out.

She hung her head, nodding. The girl looked like she was trying to hide tears… _again_. His assumptions were confirmed when she reached up to brush her fingers over her cheeks.

"I know…" she began, drawing her head up slowly. "I know that what I said on the stand that day… I know it condemned him. I didn't think—"

"Don't think an apology is going to get you out of this, Granger—"

"Would you just shut up for once and _listen_? I'm not apologizing for anything."

He blinked, taken aback. She wasn't going to be the Golden Girl this time? She wasn't going to apologize for what _she_ admitted to doing?

"I went onto that stand and I said what I was told to say. I said it, knowing that it would add weight to the case against your father, but I never knew it would be the deciding factor. Still… I knew what I was doing. I knew it would be heard, because of who I am… or… who I _was_ , anyway." She shook her head. "I'm trying to say that I understand."

Wait… what?

"What?"

She met his eyes boldly then, tears glistening in her eyes. He hated them. Merlin, he hated them so damn much.

"I can't even begin to comprehend what it was like for you, going through what you did. Losing your mother, and—"

"Granger…"

"—your father like that. I can't. It makes sense that you'd come after me. I was one of the main hands in his incarceration. I understand why I'm here."

Draco shot up from his spot, almost toppling back over when he felt another wave of dizziness hit him. Granger was on her feet in seconds, hands pressed to his thumping heart. He seized her shoulders, both for balance and for the heat of his rage. He shook her viciously, digging his fingers into her arms.

"You understand _nothing_ , Granger. Do you have any idea what you did? You _ruined me_. My family, my name – everything! You destroyed all of it! Everything I had, you and your little friends just crushed it, and now – what – you think _understanding why you're here_ is going to pardon you?"

"No, Malfoy, I—"

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to put you through? Everything that's happened so far was a bloody joy, compared to what I have in store for you." Her eyes widened as he leaned in closer, gritting his teeth as she tried to wiggle away from him. He kept her firmly in place and fearlessly rammed his forehead against her own, ignoring the pounding of protest in his head. "I'll bring you _Hell_ , Granger."

Tears stung her eyes and she looked up at him. She let them fall freely, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Don't you get it, Malfoy?" Her voice could not have sounded more broken. "My freedom is gone… I have no-one… I'm alone."

His grip loosened from the familiarity of her words, recalling thinking the very same thing as he walked through the large doors of the Manor alone, funeral robes and melancholy thoughts.

"This _is_ Hell."

Draco let his hands fall away from her then, taking a step back from her. Noting his wand on the small table next to the bed, he stormed past her and snatched it up, pointing it with purpose at her face, which flinched. She stepped back from him.

"No yet."

He stormed out of the room and took to the lower levels of the house, where her tears couldn't bother him.

* * *

 _She that had no need of me,  
is a little lonely child  
lost in Hell – Persephone_

* * *

Draco had stormed out of the house not long after he had abandoned her to his bedroom. She found herself slumping to the floor, exhausted and teary-eyed. She wiped furiously at the water leaking from her ducts, but it kept flowing in rivers, mocking her brokenness.

Pips had eventually returned, potions in hand. His presence had dragged Hermione from her hysteria. Upon seeing her so sad, Pips had taken it upon himself to cheer her up. He had managed to get her downstairs for some tea, where he allowed her to get comfortable in the sitting room close to the front door. Once she was settled, he brought her tea and biscuits, eventually making her dinner as well.

The house elf was surprised to find that his mistress did not want to be left alone. Instead, she asked for stories of his adventures around Malfoy Manor, which he happily told her, even reenacting a few scenes that had her laughing. When he noticed her happiness returning, he had offered her a book to read, which she took with a small nod of thanks. He disappeared to clean the house while she delved into the its pages, proud that he had been able to cure her state of melancholy, no matter how brief the reprieve.

She had read the same sentence at least three times. Her head was still reeling, deciding that Malfoy was little more than a force of nature – a bloody hurricane. He twisted everything around him, destroyed it, and never bothered to rebuild. One moment, he was touching her, kissing her, and the next, he was threatening her. She caught a glimpse of the decent conversations she could have had with him and found herself craving it. A word, a fight, a sigh, anything. Anything not to feel so alone. She silently wished that she hadn't botched the whole thing by bringing up his father, but she had to say _something_ about it. She had to let him know that she understood why he went so far. She didn't agree with it, and she certainly was not about to apologize for doing what she thought was right, but she _understood_.

That seemed to throw him so hard, it only made things worse. Even then, she hadn't wanted him to leave. The steps of progress were being taken. She could feel the sense of closure ebbing into her grip, just as he had ripped it away and left her there. She had wanted to confront the issue, to move forward, and to hopefully silence the screams of loneliness in her blood, but she was left to feel more solitary than ever.

Hermione was curled into the couch until midnight, almost falling asleep with the book on her chest yet again, when the doorknob turned, and she heard Malfoy stumble into the house. Thinking that this would be just like the other night, where he walked listlessly back to his own bedroom, she hadn't bothered to look up from her book, silently hoping that her stillness would shield her from his prying eyes. Consciously, she sank a little deeper into the cushions, wishing she could just cast a Disillusionment Charm and hide herself completely. She ached for her wand.

His dragonhide boots scuffing the floor startled her, causing her gaze to latch immediately onto him. His hair looked like a mess and he was swaying on the spot, eventually taking to leaning against the doorframe, looking through her with stressed, bloodshot eyes.

She closed her book quietly and tossed the blanket off her body, standing in the new nightgown she had gotten from Elise's shop (as Draco had removed all her old clothes). It was slimming, and she instantly regretted wearing next to nothing under it, but there seemed to be no way of getting around him to rush back to her own bedroom.

He looked dazed. She stepped forward warily.

"Malfoy?"

His eyes snapped up to her just then, almost making her jump as he zeroed in. For a moment, she saw him rake his sights over her form, making her hand fall upon her stomach in nervousness as her heart leapt into her throat. By the time he locked onto her gaze again, he was stepping forward.

In a few long strides, just as it registered in her mind to back away from him, he caught her face in his hands. Unlike the changeroom in Elise's shop, he wasted no time, hastily slanting his mouth over her own. He tasted like whiskey, hissing into her mouth like the contact was burning him. A shuddering breath flew from him as he pushed her lips apart and she thought she felt him wince when she complied. Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.

 _You need this._

 _ **Why?**_

 _Because you're alone._

This wasn't supposed to happen when he had first come through the door. Half of him had been tempted to seek her out and put her in her place, while the other half just wanted him to sleep. All he knew when he watched her stand was that the nightgown hugged the right places and suddenly, he was back in that bloody changeroom, hearing her sigh into his mouth. Before he could stop his inebriated body, it had crossed the threshold, and dammit, here he fucking was.

He could barely taste her on his half-numb tongue, overpowered by the drink. He didn't care. He could still feel her through the stupor with an earthquake in his hands. Or was it him? Was he the one shaking? It didn't matter. He needed this. The bitch didn't understand anything, but he would make her see, make her feel, make her _want_. Merlin, he would do anything, as long as he was able to touch and taste _someone_.

She mumbled something that was instantly silenced by him. He swallowed whatever protests she had down into his gut, storing them for a soberer time. He kept her precious face imprisoned in the grip of his hands, pinning his body to her in frantic desire. He needed to bite and consume and devour. He ignored the noises she made, focusing on how her mouth became pliant under his own; how her hands had reached up and encircled his wrists to try and pry him off, but her grip relaxed in time, fingers hanging loose around his wrists.

Hanging by a thread.

A jolt hit his stomach, making him groan deep into her mouth. He pressed more into her, pushing the boundaries, ignoring the inkling in the back of his mind that told him to stop. He had wanted this. He had wanted her to want him. Now, her fingers were sliding along his forearms, and when he was sure she wouldn't pull away, his hands dropped from her face and searched blindly for her waist, drawing her taut against him. He could feel the wildness of her heartbeat and it thrilled him. Her hands slit to his biceps and gave a gentle, defiant squeeze. A last-ditch attempt to call his attention. He paid no heed and punished her with an unparalleled desire that had her quaking in his grasp.

Would she fall if he wasn't holding her?

 _You don't deserve it,_ a voice in his head rang out, making his growl rake like gravel on velvet down her throat. His hands gripped her waist tighter, half-numb to the silken material bunching in his fingers. He felt her hands spread over his chest, traveling upwards with a hesitation that made him flare up.

 _Don't deserve it… you don't… you don't deserve it._

He pressed harder, jerking her deeper into his hold. She released a whimper against his lips that sent shivers along his spine. He pushed the growing thickness of him into her belly, letting her feel her effect on him. Another whimper, which he swallowed down with starved greed.

 _You don't deserve her_.

 _ **FUCK**_.

He tore away from her, trying to still himself. His eyes were still tightly closed, trying not to see the look of complete fear on her face at his gall. However, they blinked open when he felt a touch upon his cheek. He almost flinched, braving himself to look down at the woman he was holding onto like a lifeline.

Granger's mouth was pleasantly worked, full and enticing, half-open, and wanton. Her freckled cheeks were flushed a deep red, chest rising and falling just as rapidly as the first time he had kissed her. Her eyes were wide, but not in fear. They were hazy and desperate.

She looked… _painfully_ disappointed.

"Malfoy…"

He wrenched himself away from her, backing up a few steps. She looked like she was making to step forward, but she stopped herself.

He took the opportunity to leave, making his way to the upper level and locking himself in the bathroom.

His hands found balance on the sink after he had turned on the shower. He was heaving from exertion, bracing himself as he felt something creeping up from his stomach to his throat.

It didn't take him long to vomit up the drink.

Hermione touched her lips, shuffling backwards until her knees hit the couch. She sank down, trying to decide if she wanted to scream, or cry, or both. What the hell was wrong with her, kissing him like that? Why had he pulled away when she had begun kissing him back? What was this unbearably empty sensation slamming against her abdomen?

God, she was twisted. Damned if she liked it, damned if she didn't. She buried her face in her hands, trying to clear the clouds from her mind. She was almost afraid of rushing upstairs to take sanctuary in her bedroom. If he caught her again, there was no telling what he might try.

She threw herself into the cushions of the couch, unaware that somewhere above, Draco was wrapping a hand around the base of his length, thinking about her full mouth.

* * *

 _Take her head upon your knee:  
say to her, "my dear, my dear,  
it is not so dreadful here."_

* * *

 _A/N: I don't even think an apology will cut it. This has been an incredibly busy time for me. I have officially graduated from university, gotten my TESOL certificate, got a grown-up job, and I am currently preparing to leave my campus residence in a month and bunk with a friend/family member before I move to the USA to get married._

 _Phew. I got exhausted, just listing these things off._

 _Needless to say, things have been piled onto my plate, and I have tackled them all with as much strength as I can muster, and all I got was this lousy tee-shirt._

 _Anyway, now that most of the big things have been dealt with, and I have some serious free-time, I will be uploading the chapters I had pre-written while I work on new ones. Believe it or not, I have quite a bit in stock. I just need to edit them, then post them. I am hoping to post at LEAST one per week. This week, I'll be posting TWO, because you have all been waiting much longer than you should have._

 _From the bottom of my heart, I am truly sorry for making you all wait. Hopefully, these two chapters will count towards the beginning of my redemption._

 _Welcome back, Firebreathers._

* * *

Poem: "Prayer to Persephone" by Edna St. Vincent Millay


	11. Wishing on the Stars

_**WISHING ON THE STARS**_

 _Draco,_

 _Astoria and I are going to be visiting Paris tonight. We would be pleased to treat you and your lovely wife to dinner to celebrate your marriage on a more intimate level._

 _We will be stopping by at one o'clock in the afternoon to discuss the details._

 _See you soon,_

 _Blaise_

…

That bastard.

As if Draco wasn't suffering from enough of a headache, now he needed to deal with Blaise's impending visit. He had _told him_ to wait until he and Granger had returned from their blasted honeymoon, and here the bugger was, impeding on his plans yet again.

"Malfoy?"

Granger's voice called him from his silent rage and he looked up to her, faltering slightly. He had done a good job avoiding her over the past few days, and she never sought him out for answers. Draco decided after that night to lay off the whiskey for a while, as it was beginning to impair his judgment far more than before. He still saw her at meals, but neither of them had bothered to engage in conversation. All they exchanged were "goodnights" and "good mornings".

It was hardly pleasant, merely courteous, yet Draco found himself surprisingly comfortable with the routine.

This was the first time she had openly called on him since the incident, which was a shock. He took a moment to register her presence.

"What?" He asked, blinking twice to regain composure.

"What does the letter say?"

"What's it to you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you're wrinkling it in your fist, so I'm wondering if this is going to put you in a foul enough mood where I need to vacate the premises."

Draco glanced to the letter in his hand, which was now balled in his fist. He dropped the crinkled page to the table and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"It was Blaise. He wants to have dinner with us," he groaned out, wiping his face. "Apparently, he and Astoria are going to be coming for tea at one to discuss the details."

"Really?"

Her voice sounded positively chipper. He hated that. Blaise and Astoria had already left enough of an impression on her, and Blaise's intentions were hardly honorable. All of it was enough to make Draco incredibly frustrated. He would be spending the whole day on edge, knowing that the bloody Italian had tricks up his sleeve to encourage a slip in demeanor.

It was a mistake, talking to the bloke at all about his plans.

"Don't get too excited, Granger. Blaise is no friend to you."

"Oh, please. Blaise is a perfect gentleman, unlike _some_ ," she looked pointedly at Draco. "Besides, I told you before. He treated me with more respect than any of your other _friends_. Whether it was genuine or not, I appreciated it a lot more than degradation." She straightened her spine, rather proud of herself for making her case.

"I'm sure you did, _bella_ ," Draco bit out, forcing a coy smirk to mask the insult.

She met his eyes with reddening cheeks, then snapped her gaze back to her food and pursed her lips. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"You realize he called you that to get to me, right?"

"So you told me the night he made his appearance," she replied in a softer tone, clearly not in the mood to fight with him. He could remedy that. "It's not just Blaise, you know. I'm happy to be seeing Astoria again as well. She's sweet, and a far better conversationalist than Parkinson. Or you."

"Yet here you are, talking to me. How ever do you manage?"

He watched with a glowing sense of pride as she clamped her mouth shut, glared daggers at him, and walked briskly away.

Hermione could not suffocate the excitement she felt as she heard the floo network roar up. Malfoy had spent most of the morning adjusting his wards to allow Astoria and Blaise entry. The whole time, Hermione had been pacing back and forth, teeming with happiness at the prospect of additional people. Tolerating Draco's sour attitude only provided so much comfort in company. Astoria's smile was as bright as the day Hermione had met her. She stepped out of the floo and approached Hermione with extended hands, which Hermione took up with a bright smile, fighting the urge to outright hug the girl.

She felt like someone abandoned on an island with no human contact. Even the sight of half-strangers was a dream come true. While Blaise and Draco shook hands like old comrades and conversed amongst themselves, Astoria seemed positively giddy, looking at Hermione with luminescent, shimmering eyes.

"Hermione! I was so excited to see you. Blaise had only planned on supper, but I couldn't wait until then. I'm afraid I can be rather impulsive," Astoria said in her gentle voice, giggling delicately. Hermione grinned in response. "I'm so sorry to impose, though, I understand that this is your—"

"Oh, nonsense," Hermione waved off the comment, trying hard not to think about the way the word 'honeymoon' upset her stomach. "I was just as excited to see you. Being with Mal—erm… Draco… is nice and all, but… the company of friends is really refreshing."

"Well, I'm flattered you consider me a friend as well. I was worried I was overstepping my boundaries in presuming such."

"Not at all. Er, shall I take your jacket?"

Astoria tilted her head, her smile dimming somewhat. It took Hermione a moment to realize that Draco and Blaise were also looking at her in confusion.

"What?" Hermione prodded.

Realization dawned on Astoria's face, which seemed to light up again. "Is it a muggle custom? To take the coat of a guest?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened. "Oh, erm… yes… for the most part. Some muggles have butlers, but… well, I can get into that another time."

"Fascinating!"

Astoria shrugged off her jacket. Hermione offered to take it, this time silently. At first, Astoria hesitated, but Hermione merely grinned.

"It won't hurt me, Astoria."

The blonde woman laughed heartily and planted her jacket firmly into Hermione's hands. The muggleborn laughed softly, even offering to take Blaise's jacket as well, which he was extremely hesitant to give her, and went to hang it up.

Draco watched her go, equally as perplexed as his guests. Had Granger not yet grown accustomed to Pips' endless desire to do everything for her? Why on earth did she feel the need to go out of her way to take the coats of their guests like some maid? If this was a muggle custom, then Draco had to admit, they needed to learn a thing or two about self-respect and dignity.

He could already sense the jovial quip on the tip of Blaise's tongue as his friend turned back to him.

"Such a strange, yet refreshing tradition," the Italian said, habitually bending his arm at the elbow as Astoria's thin fingers slipped around his bicep. She glanced between the pair with sparkling, kind eyes. "I'm surprised such homely manners have yet to rub off on her husband."

Astoria playfully swatted Blaise's arm. "Oh, Blaise, don't be coy. Proper guests don't critique the host's manners. Hermione and Draco come from different worlds. It's not as though we're leaping to take the coats of our guests. Though I must admit, it is an exceedingly kind gesture."

"Indeed," Blaise agreed, his eyes glimmering with mischief as he never broke stares with Draco. "Humbling."

Draco bit back a sneer, breaking eye contact only when Hermione returned to the room.

"Come. Pips should have the tea ready. We'll take it here in the sitting room."

He swept his arm over the area in silent emphasis, and Astoria followed, taking the first seat on the comfortable couch. Draco was sure to wean his fingers around Hermione's wrist, lightly tugging her to sit next to him, which made her fight the urge to roll her eyes.

Blaise, however, boldly crossed the threshold before he took his seat, reaching lightly for Hermione's hand. He brought it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. She could feel Draco tensing next to her, as he had sat down hip-to-hip.

" _La bella_ ," Blaise cooed with a growing smirk. "I wasn't able to greet you properly before. Your husband seemed quite keen on stealing all of my attention."

Hermione blushed deeply, smiling somewhat when she heard Astoria's soft giggles trilling through the air like a group of bright blue butterflies. She breathed out a laugh as well, and Blaise released her, moving to take up a seat next to his wife.

The man was incorrigible, just like Draco. She realized that now.

Pips did not take long to bring them their tea, and the four settled into a mildly pleasant silence, which Blaise, naturally, could not abide. He had not waited all this time to avoid taking the mickey out of Draco, and he certainly did not agree to tea in order to abide his wife's wishes alone.

"So… Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy… how is the honeymoon faring thus far?" He noted how Hermione almost cringed at the name, forcing back a smirk. Draco's expression steeled. "Surely it hasn't been as droll as silent tea in the sitting room."

"Well, it's certainly never been a dull moment, that's for certain," Hermione said, unable to stop the words from bursting forth. Draco tensed once more next to her, and she got a sickening inkling that she was going to pay for that comment later on. "By which, of course, I mean we've been playing tourist most days," she recovered quickly, " _Draco_ even took me shopping."

He froze when he found how foreign his given name sounded on her lips. He had heard her say it a few times before, but it was choppy and forced. This time around, he was more shocked to find that it sounded so delicate. Breathy, as though she were unsure of the pronunciation of it. It sounded like a sigh; like a whisper in a lover's ear. Intimate.

He suddenly felt like everyone else had been saying it wrong.

"Oh? And where did he take you shopping?" Blaise inquired, raising a brow in interest. Draco's eyes narrowed. Surely, the bastard _wouldn't_ go this far. "I certainly hope it wasn't Elise's shop."

Hermione's expression went blank, feigning innocence. If Blaise was bringing this up on account of Elise's open flirtatiousness, or the fact that she had nothing but backhanded compliments in store whenever she was alone with Hermione, then she definitely wanted to see where he took this conversation.

"Why not Elise?" Draco interjected, appearing calm. "She's the best."

"Oh, Draco, you didn't," Astoria chimed, a hint of disappointment in her tone.

"Well… Elise may be a little… vivacious… but Draco isn't wrong. She fitted me with a very nice wardrobe."

There was his name again. Second strike. She still sounded unsure. It still sounded like a light whisper in his ear. Why did the air suddenly feel so bloody intimate? He forced the idea aside, clearing his throat as he unintentionally leaned into Granger's side. She was warm.

It was getting too hot in this damn room.

 _Get a hold of yourself,_ _ **Draco**_.

He heard it in her voice and suddenly hated himself.

"The girl has no tact." Now it was Astoria's time to speak up, shocking the room into silence. "What? It's true! Blaise, you recall when I went to get fitted for my wedding dress? The girl fawned so openly over you, I got a pin in my hip! Blaise had to stop escorting me there, because he was such a distraction." She shook her head of blonde, beautiful curls.

Blaise smirked. "Can you blame the woman?"

Astoria playfully swatted his chest, putting the smallest effort behind it. "Of course not. With such suavity, I knew perfectly well what I was getting into. However, it hardly excuses the drool you had on your tie by the time we went for supper."

Hermione snorted. "That bad, was it?"

"Though Astoria often enjoys embellishment, I can assure you, her tales are never spun false," Blaise confirmed.

"Elise is a beautiful woman, but I fear she has a deep-seeded knack for lusting after treasures that are not her own." Astoria leaned into Blaise, who casually slung an arm onto the back of the couch behind her. It looked so painfully natural, like the two got married of their own accord; like there had been no Marriage Law set in place. Hermione found herself envying their luck yet again.

"Draco would know all about that, wouldn't he?" Blaise chimed, an amused smirk growing.

The room went quiet.

The bastard did it. He bloody well _did it_.

At first, Hermione appeared startled by the hint. Her brain spun as it deciphered. Eventually, Granger's head snapped in his direction. "You brought me to get fitted for outfits by a woman you had… _relations_ with?"

Though a part of him relished the idea of her looking at him in horror when he first told her he was taking her shopping, the result was hardly as satisfying now as it would have been a few days ago. He glared daggers at Blaise, who looked nothing more than curious as to how Draco was going to get out of this scrape. The man was a rat. A bloody _rat_. Draco had every intention of slinging out that little fact of his own accord when he was ready; an ammunition for a rainy day just to see the look of disgust on Granger's face.

Now, the Italian had gone and made him look like a damn fool.

"Wait, you two actually _did_ have relations?" Astoria leaned forward in interest. "I thought that was all just gossip Parkinson started to victimize herself."

"Elise and I were never serious," Draco said through clenched teeth, only taking one split-second glance at Granger, who did not look shocked _or_ disgusted. She looked bloody well _hurt_ , and it irked him enough to turn away from her immediately. "It was a long time ago, and it's in the past. I was bringing you to her because she _is_ the best in fashion. That's all."

"Well, that's alright." Now, Draco jerked his neck so hard to look at her, he could have sworn he heard it crack. He caught a steely click of her jaw, but her visage appeared completely relaxed. "I suppose it's to be expected. At least I didn't get a pin in my hip."

"Oh! Speaking of shopping," Astoria began, deciding to change the subject. Hermione, being ever grateful, turned her attention back on the blonde witch. "I was hoping that you wouldn't be opposed to going shopping for a dress for this evening? Perhaps even go out to a late lunch, if you haven't eaten already?"

"That sounds lovely," Hermione said, feeling a smile tug on the corners of her mouth. She set down her tea and stood, smoothing her hands over her dress. "Let's go now."

Astoria looked slightly taken aback, but with one glance at Blaise, there was a mute confirmation that now was the time to leave. "O—of course!"

"I'll get our jackets, then," Hermione said, excusing herself. Draco watched her flee the room rather quickly, a flash of confusion flitting across his features.

Hermione breathed, and she breathed in deep. Counting to ten, the air _whooshed_ gradually from her lungs.

Before the tension, before the closeness, the kisses, the… strangeness… she probably would have just brushed off the knowledge of Draco's conquests. Now, the murkiness of the water she drowned in was doing so much more than merely confusing her senses. She considered the moment in the changeroom, when that blonde devil had come out to play, and briefly wondered if that wall he backed her into was the very same setting where he had his little tryst with Elise.

A shudder of revulsion raked along her spine, which she tried so desperately to will away as she jerked Astoria's coat from the hanger in the closet. She grabbed her own as well, feeling much colder than she had that morning.

She had been fitted for outfits by a woman who had once dropped all her clothes on the floor for her _husband_. Ministry laws and arranged marriages aside, this was positively immoral, wasn't it? Of course, she should not have been surprised. Draco's goal was to torment her into madness, not be a proper husband. Ethics was not part of his agenda. He was certainly making headway. She felt mad. She felt insane, feeling jealousy slam into her gut at the idea of him kissing another woman so passionately. She felt mad, because she _shouldn't_ have been jealous. She shouldn't have been hurt. She shouldn't have displayed that hurt so prominently when she looked at him.

She was slipping.

"In a bit of a hurry, are we, Granger?" The drawl dragged her out of her thoughts and she whipped to face him, blinking two times to regain her composure. "Surely, you're not leaving because of me."

"Hardly," Hermione replied, surprisingly smooth as she rested the coats over her arm. "I was simply trying to find the right jacket to go with this outfit."

His eyes flashed, eyebrows clinching in genuine curiosity.

"So you're entirely alright with knowing that I brought you to be fitted by a woman who was in my very bed, once upon a time?" He pushed off the door frame and closed in on her. She never budged an inch, allowing her fury to fill her to the brim. She regarded him with a calm that felt just as dangerous as the morning he had the nerve to mention her parents. "To know, without certainty, that where I had you whimpering in that changeroom might have been the very place I had _her_ as well?"

"I wouldn't say I'm entirely alright," Hermione replied, watching triumph flash across his face. She let him relish it before she sent out the demolition. "I'm a little appalled at her taste."

His face fell, and Hermione pushed past him, surprised to find that he made no move to stop her.

"I know that this might sound strange, Astoria, but… I wanted to thank you," Hermione said as they traversed the Paris streets, arms linked. Astoria had been keen on giving Hermione some friendly, physical affection. Her arm in hers acted as a tether. Normally, Hermione would not have been comfortable with such closeness, but given the circumstances, she found herself relishing in it. Astoria turned to give her a pleasant, but inquiring look. "I just mean that… well, I haven't been around friends at all in quite some time, and… I just appreciate you doing this for me. Being so kind. You really didn't have to—"

Astoria paused in her step and Hermione did the same. Their arms unlinked. For a moment, she regarded the strong muggleborn before her, glanced briefly to her feet, then found her tongue again and spoke with honesty bare in her eyes.

"Hermione… I can't even begin to understand what you have endured with Draco."

Hermione's eyes went rather wide.

"E—excuse me?"

"Of course, I play the demure wife who doesn't know any better. It is a part of my upbringing to save face. However, I know perfectly well that you were running for two years because of the bad blood between you and Draco. I know that he utilized his connection with Kingsley to get to you. I know that because of him… you've lost your freedom… and lastly, I am under no impression that this _honeymoon_ has been particularly kind to you." Now registering Hermione's gaping expression, Astoria gave the girl a wry smile, reaching for her hands. She gave them a small shake to drag Hermione out of her shock. "Don't look so surprised. Blaise is my husband. Believe it or not, the Marriage Law was rather kind to us. We might have been forced to marry, but we found love in a rather hopeless place. He shares all his thoughts… and _concerns_ … with me."

"But… I'm sorry, I just… _why_ would Blaise tell you?" Hermione breathed out, suddenly feeling like the outdoors was not a good place to find oxygen. Astoria laughed like a butterfly once more, almost reminding Hermione of Luna. She had little doubt that the two would find common ground in whimsical nature, at the very least. "I just can't imagine why I would ever be a topic of interest. I'm sorry if that seems cold of me."

"Not at all." Astoria linked her arm with Hermione's again, guiding her along. "Let's go to lunch first. I'll explain everything."

Eventually, the two found themselves in a muggle café, which Hermione was all too eager to go into. Astoria appeared fascinated by all the strange coffee machines behind the counter, and Hermione had even suggested what to order. Her French was a bit rusty, but Astoria spoke the language fluently, so the two managed just fine without assistance.

Once they settled into a nice, quiet booth in the corner, Astoria began her story while they waited on their meal.

"So. What would you like to know first?" She asked.

Hermione fingered the handle of her mug, sighing heavily. "Well… I suppose I would like to know why Draco feels the need to put on the act of a married couple, even though there's no marital bliss to be had. A part of me feels like it's all involved with his grand scheme, but…" _but then he kissed me in the changeroom, and then kissed me again when he was drunk, and I've never, ever, ever been kissed like that before._ "I'm not so certain anymore."

"Knowing Draco, I would say it's a mixture of two things." Astoria adjusted her position and the booth creaked under her miniscule weight. "You must remember that in a pureblood society, arranged marriages are part of tradition. As such, the Marriage Law didn't affect _us_ so much as it affected… well… pardon my manners, but people like you. Muggleborns and half-bloods; people who came from the muggle world, where the freedom to marry whoever you want is more common." She smiled as Hermione nodded in understanding. "As you saw at your engagement party, everyone you met was likely smiling, congratulating you, and like Blaise and myself, telling you how wonderful it was to be getting married. Don't mistake that for ignorance, Hermione. The reason people were congratulating you was because it was a part of their etiquette. Arranged or not, marriage is a tradition. You're doing what everyone in high pureblood society should be doing anyway. Getting married, having babies, continuing the family line. You're fulfilling tradition. They don't think about marital bliss." Astoria held up an index finger. "So one reason Draco enacts the _happy marital display_ is because it's how he was raised, and the second reason," she held up another finger, "is because he wants to torment you with societal etiquettes that confuse and anger you. To him, it's a win-win."

Hermione stayed quiet for a moment, staring into the contents of her cup, which she had yet to sip from. She suddenly felt less hungry.

"That's why you're being so kind to me now, isn't it?" She asked, finally looking up to meet Astoria's kind, soothing eyes, which twinkled in response. "Because you knew what Draco was doing… you _know_ what he's doing now."

"I knew enough to understand that you needed someone on your side, yes." Astoria nodded solemnly, but her eyes were still soft; generous. "I also wasn't being facetious when I said I wanted to get to know you. You're the brightest witch of your age. You're a hero; a Pantheon of the feminine spirit. I wanted to witness that brightness for myself. You're also a good person who is in over their head. Giving you moral support was just an in."

The corner of Hermione's lips twitched. "Now I'm seeing the Slytherin part."

Astoria giggled. "People are always surprised when it comes out." She leaned in, as though she were about to divulge a secret. "The difference between me and the common Slytherin is that I use my powers for good."

Hermione laughed softly. "That's a comfort."

The blonde witch studied her with a softer gaze, allowing a kind smile to play on her delicate mouth. Hermione's face straightened, feeling her mood dampen. This girl reminded her so much of Luna, it was almost making her ache with the need to rush back home and into the arms of her friends.

"Talk to me, Hermione," Astoria said finally. The muggleborn refocused. "You need to talk about it. I know you do."

"To be honest, there's just so much… I wouldn't even know where to begin…"

The blonde witch's smile widened, sending waves of comfort over Hermione's shoulders, making her posture slack.

"Start anywhere."

So, she did. She told Astoria everything. She talked to the girl like they had been friends their whole lives; like no secret had ever been kept between them to begin with. She cried in that booth and laid herself bare. Astoria never judged, nor did she interrupt. She held Hermione's hand like a sister, encouraging her with gentle smiles, soft words, and squeezes of encouragement.

Hermione left out the part about her parents. She would tell Astoria about that another time. For now, she was talking about Malfoy. She told her about the hatred she felt, and how her loneliness suffocated every breath she took, and why it was ebbing away, and how confused she was when he kissed her, and how she hated that she was even remotely jealous over Elise, and how terribly she missed her friends, and how pathetic she felt, and how Astoria reminded her so much of Luna. By the end, Astoria looked happy as a clam, still clinging to Hermione's hand from across the table. Neither one had touched their food, which had been sitting there for over an hour. She gave Hermione's fingers a small grip, then released her.

"Eat. I have the perfect plan to cheer you up," she said, spreading the napkin in her lap.

Blaise had forced Draco to break into his stock… again. Now, the two were sitting in the study, lounging silently across from one another, exchanging a small battle of stares as the quiet loomed around them. Blaise appeared calm and relaxed, while Draco's expression was set completely in stone. Neither one dared to speak a single syllable since the girls had departed, as though the one to break the silence would be dubbed the weakest.

" _Mrs. Malfoy_ seemed pretty keen on leaving all this behind, didn't she," Blaise observed, garnering a glare from his former classmate.

Another beat of silence passed between them.

Draco changed the subject.

"Did you get rid of the files from St. Mungos?" He asked.

"Of course. I want to help you, not ruin you."

Blaise's eyes twinkled, and suddenly, Draco knew that wasn't the case.

"I told you it was working," he said, making Draco's jaw clench.

"Don't start on this _again_ , Blaise," Draco snapped back, sinking into his seat lazily. "I'm too sober for ambiguity."

"Astoria is rather disappointed in you, you know. I only wanted to take you out for dinner, but her? She had it in her brilliant little mind that Granger was in distress, and probably needed a friend right about now." He smirked behind his glass of fine whiskey. "Women."

"Drop the act, it's getting tired."

Challenge accepted.

"You know, it's intriguing. Spending all this time hunting Granger down, only to find her. You're finally able to enact your long-sought revenge, and _yet_ … you seem more miserable than ever." The dark-skinned young man tilted his head in mock curiosity. "I'd hate to think the whole situation wasn't meeting your fantastical expectations."

Draco rolled his eyes, but said nothing, which only encouraged Blaise to continue his taunting.

"Another lesson learned?"

"Sod off," Draco bit out, getting up to refill his drink.

Blaise chuckled. "Touchy, touchy. Granger's really fighting back hard, isn't she? I told you it'd be near impossible to break her, didn't I? She's a war hero. Your petty little games aren't going to faze her."

"It's not a help when my own _friends_ seem to be determined to make _me_ look like the fool."

Blaise raised a hand in mock surrender. "We aren't the ones with a vendetta."

Draco shot a deadly look in his friend's direction before returning with a fresh drink, slinking back into his chair.

"How's Theo?" He asked, desperate to change the topic. Blaise shrugged in compliance, which instantly made Draco regret his decision.

"Busy. Poor bloke rarely ever leaves his job behind. Always a new victim, I'm sure you know."

"Not a very good reflection on old customs, I'm sure."

"Kingsley's having a field day as well. Obliviator Headquarters is practically open twenty-four-seven with all the domestics piling up. He's lucky he's been able to keep most of the statistics under the radar of the public. Those revolutionaries would have blown up the Ministry if they saw 'em." Blaise's eyes flickered from his glass and back to Draco. "You know, Theo says he never got the invitation to the engagement party."

"Must've gotten lost, then," Draco managed, hiding the strain in his voice behind his glass as he took a sip. "Theo was busy anyway."

"He thinks you've been avoiding him."

"I've been busy."

"He doesn't seem pleased with you."

"He's never pleased with me."

"He was a year ago."

"Are you quite done dancing around this topic, Blaise?"

"Would you rather I be forthright?"

"If it'll get the conversation finished quicker, yes."

"Naturally." Blaise resigned, standing to refill his own drink. Draco rolled his eyes, already exhausted. "Theo became upset with you when he saw the truth about domestic abuse in his cases. Now he's not speaking to you, and you're avoiding him, because you're ashamed of what you're doing."

"Oh, am I? Because I'd like to think I'm finally getting things done."

"Perhaps you'd like to think that, but fantasies are just that, Draco. Fantasies. Reality never complies, and I believe you are realizing that." He returned to his seat, swirling the whiskey lightly in his glass. The Italian leaned forward, suddenly very invested in the conversation. He always put aside his pretenses when he got down to business. His elbows rested idly upon his knees. "My question is: what happens when it all goes south, and Theo gets _your_ file handed to him? What will he think of you then, I wonder?"

"What's it to you, anyway?"

"Nothing, of course." He retreated back to lean into the cushion of the couch, still collected. "But as a man who has lost so much, I find it would be a pity to lose such a close friend because you can't exorcise your demons in a healthier manner."

"I'm moved, Blaise. I never thought you saw me as such a spiritual person."

"Not spiritual, Draco. Just haunted."

The two girls stumbled from Elise's small shop, hearing the door slam hard behind them as the infuriatingly lovely witch shoved them out. Of course, this never stopped the erupting flow of laughter that burst from the girls, who now clung to one another during their bouts.

Once they peeled apart, confident enough to stand on their own, Hermione wiped happy tears from her eyes.

"Oh my God, I cannot believe you did that," Hermione wheezed, trying to clear her face. Astoria adjusted her shopping bags and giggled a little more. It became contagious for a stint. "Did you have to go _that_ in-depth? I think she burst a vein in her head!"

"Honestly, Hermione, this is the first time in my life where I don't regret being so bold in speech. The wretched woman had it coming." The blonde witch swiped her thumbs under her own eyes, falling in step with Hermione as she kept walking.

Hermione had no idea that a prank of a lie would make her feel so confident. However, seeing Astoria rattle off the details of a wild story that involved interrupting a heated, intimate moment between Hermione and Draco had made Elise's face contort in such an ugly horror that Hermione couldn't help but find a morbid satisfaction in it. Before either of them knew it, they were being thrown out of the shop by a furious witch who had now been told by Astoria that Draco was never happier with his wife, and that he had apparently admitted that no other woman would ever satisfy him the way Hermione had.

"Well… at least you didn't get a pin in your hip this time," Hermione said, chuckling softly.

"I was afraid I would've gotten worse, if I'm being honest. But I got my dress!" She squealed happily, hopping a little as she strolled next to her friend. Boldly, she linked their arms. "Besides, it's not like you didn't join in on the fun. _Oh, I've never seen a man so satisfied before! You'd think I was the only girl in the world, with how he looked at me during the ceremony!"_ She mocked, batting her eyelashes dramatically.

"Shut up," Hermione laughed out, nudging Astoria with her elbow gently.

"With everything you told me before, Hermione, I think this triumph is just what you needed to start getting back on your feet."

"Perhaps, but it still doesn't help me figure out my feelings on the matter."

"Well, you're in quite the predicament. On the run for two years from a man you're now married to, and now that things are getting heated between you two, you're getting mixed signals, and therefore, mixed feelings about him."

"Thanks for the recap."

"Oh, Hermione, you know what I mean. You're caught between a rock and a hard place. Any little win helps, even if it has no merit."

Hermione smiled lightly, letting silence fall between them as she looked into the passing shop windows.

Shoes, clothes, tourist shops, record shops…

She paused, forcing Astoria to stop with her.

Now standing outside of a shop window that had guitars and various musical instruments hanging in it. She tilted her head, taking a few steps closer. Astoria followed, peering curiously inside as well.

"Is this a muggle music shop?" She asked. Hermione nodded absently, her eyes now transfixed on a lovely tenor ukulele in the far-right corner. Noticing the muggleborn's fixation, she tugged hard on Hermione's arm, dragging her along. "Let's look inside!"

"Oh, really, Astoria, I couldn't—"

"Nonsense, it'll be fun!"

The two slipped inside. A bell rang, alerting the shopkeeper to their presence. The place was humble and narrow, with many instruments hanging from the walls. The man behind the counter was an older, balding man with a plump belly, offering them a kind smile and a wave of welcome.

"Bonjour, bonjour!" He called out.

"Hello," Hermione greeted, returning the smile as Astoria seemed fascinated with the strange instruments surrounding them. The blonde drifted along. Hermione had half a mind to warn the girl not to touch anything before she accidentally broke it but decided to bite her tongue. _Let the girl have some fun_ , she chided herself. "Do you think, um…" the man looked curiously at her. Hermione rephrased, gesturing to the ukulele in the window. "Could… could I possibly…"

"Ah! Zee uke! Oui!" The man, who had very broken English, held up an index finger to ask her to wait as he rushed to the window and gently picked up the small instrument. Bustling back over, he removed the price tag from the item and ferried it over the counter, gently placing it into Hermione's outstretched hands.

She took it up with a mother's gentility, bringing it closer.

"Ah… come…" the man motioned for her to follow, pointing to a small stool in the corner of the narrow shop. Astoria, who had been entranced by the instruments, turned around, looking at Hermione with widening eyes and rising excitement.

"Oh! Do you play that?" She asked, pointing to the ukulele.

Hermione felt her fingers trembling around the thing. "Erm… y—yes… though I haven't played in quite some time."

"Oh, Hermione, _please_ play something for me. I would love to see how it works!"

Granger nodded, sliding idly onto the stool. She crossed her legs and positioned the small instrument. For a moment, she ran through the few songs she had learned years ago, having found a small joy in the ukulele before the war. Though she had a far greater fondness for the piano, it was nice to have a more portable kind of music. She had even packed it on the hunt for horcruxes, but it had been destroyed later on. Harry always smiled when she serenaded him, and Ron always thought the thing sounded childish, but Hermione would always catch his toes tapping whenever she played an upbeat number.

Deciding on something simple, she began strumming a rhythmic tune that she had played so many times, it came more naturally after a few strokes. She closed her eyes just as Astoria's eyes began to sparkle with glee. Knowing people were watching her would only throw her off. She always did have trouble performing in front of people, even her closest friends. It's why this was such a hidden talent.

" _Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose…_ "

When the small ditty came to a close, Hermione's eyes opened as her audience of two began clapping loudly. She knew she was no Warbeck, but the few who had witnessed this piece of her had openly said that she had a voice made for lullabies; a classic trill that enticed and soothed them. She gulped down her stage fright and arose from her seat, holding the ukulele by the neck at her side.

"Hermione, that was lovely! I never knew you could sing. Do you play for many people?" Astoria asked, positively beaming.

"Not really, no… I actually haven't played in years… it's more of a personal hobby, I suppose."

"Well, I'll consider myself lucky to have witnessed it."

Hermione smiled softly. The shopkeeper had complimented her in his native tongue, which made her blush, embarrassed that she couldn't respond. Astoria piped up when Hermione began handing the instrument back to the clerk. She pointed to the uke and said something else, conversing briefly with the man, who nodded and took the item back behind the counter.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked, befuddled. Astoria waved her off.

"Consider it a wedding gift. I was hoping to get you something personal anyway."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, Astoria, really, you don't have to—"

"Hermione. I just watched you come more alive than ever before. Personal hobby or not, this curious little thing makes you happy. If you want to repay me, then do me a favor and use it to make yourself smile. Then I'll know it's worth every sickle."

Draco and Blaise were hunched over a wizard's chess set. So far, the game was neck-to-neck, with both parties taking their sweet time, considering strategy. Draco was hunched over, elbows on his knees, stroking his chin as he studied the board with a narrowed gaze. Blaise, though a step ahead, appeared completely bored, lazily bound to the cushions of his seat as he swirled his third whiskey idly in its glass.

"C'mon, Draco, we haven't got all day."

"Quiet, Blaise," Draco snapped, brows creasing in concentration.

The two had become so engrossed, they almost missed the gentle _whoosh_ of the floo network in the sitting room. The disruption of excited, feminine voices were what broke the mold, far too happy for Draco's liking. He exchanged a brief look with Blaise, who again, appeared thoroughly amused.

"Stalemate?" Blaise inquired, raising his drink to finish the contents as he pushed himself up.

Draco smirked, standing with him. "Only way for you to avoid submission, I suppose."

Blaise chuckled, and the pair made their way towards the sitting room.

"Blaise! _Mon cher_!" Astoria beamed brightly as she made her way to her husband, giving him a gracious kiss on the lips, which he accepted with unmatched fervor.

Hermione felt a pang of envy hit her stomach again, and she flashed a look to Draco, who stared back at her with an unreadable expression. She decided to shrug off her jacket, looping the material over her arm as she watched Astoria pull away from Blaise with a bright smile.

"By the redness in your cheeks, I'd say you two had a fun time," Blaise quipped, quirking a brow as his gaze flickered between the ladies.

"Of course, we did! We even paid a small visit to Elise… you know, to get my dress for dinner." Astoria held up the shopping bag for emphasis.

"Elise?" Blaise chuckled. "Saucy little minx."

"Oh! And, I was able to discover Hermione's secret talent. She has a very lovely singing voice, Blaise. She even plays the… the…" Astoria turned to Hermione with a questioning, wide-eyed gaze.

"Ukulele," Hermione filled in, holding the case for the instrument against her leg. "But really, I'm a little rusty. I'll—I'll have to practice."

"You bought one?" Draco asked, making Hermione's cheeks go red. She tucked the ukulele behind her thigh, as though trying to protect it.

"Nonsense, Draco. _I_ bought it for her." Draco's eyes flashed as they fell upon Astoria's bright face. "I wanted to give her a meaningful wedding present, after all."

Blaise positively glimmered with proud, mischievous energy, coiling a possessive arm around his wife's delicate waist. He planted an adoring kiss upon her cheek, making her grin and playfully shove him back. She gave him a look of warning before poking his nose and dragging herself out of his hold.

"Now. Hermione and I are going to go upstairs to change. I'm afraid we aren't finished our girl time just yet. Neither one of you are to disturb us while we're getting ready. Understood?"

Blaise raised his hands up in surrender, whereas Draco, who looked completely lost for words, clenched his jaw tightly and nodded once.

"Wonderful! Hermione?"

Astoria offered a slender arm to the muggleborn, who let out a soft laugh. She took Astoria's arm and the pair rushed to the higher levels of the house, chatting pleasantly and giggling the whole way.

Blaise quirked a brow at Draco, who shoved past him.

"Shut it."

The Italian laughed, rich and loud.

Once the girls were ready, they lingered at the door for Hermione's bedroom. Astoria smoothed down the baby blue silk of her gown, which was as simple as it was beautiful. It brought out the brightness of her eyes. Hermione was still fidgeting about her champagne number, which Astoria demanded she wear, for the mere sake of tormenting Draco. After all, if he truly wanted to drive her mad, two could play at that game, and Astoria could not have been a more fitting coach when it came to the subtlety of putting someone vengeful in their place.

"Remember what I said, Hermione. It's not about him tonight. It's about you." The blonde witch stepped forth, heels clicking delicately along the floorboards. She lightly guided Hermione's shoulders back, fixing a few strands of flyaway hair. She pulled back with her trademark, shimmering smile. "Now. We're going to go out there, have a wonderful evening, and Draco is going to go positively insane with desire for you—"

"Which I won't return—"

"Which you won't return." She beamed proudly. "That's my girl. Shall we, then?"

They made their way to the bottom of the stairs, hearing the faintness of Draco and Blaise conversing in the sitting room. Astoria gave Hermione's arm a delicate squeeze of encouragement, and the two followed the echoes, merging paths. Lamps lit the area, bright and welcoming. Draco appeared tense, even with his hands in his pockets. His back was facing the girls. Blaise nodded once in their direction, which made Draco hesitantly follow his line of sight. He turned slowly to face them.

Of course.

 _Of course_.

That bitch.

Why wouldn't she wear that bloody dress? Why _wouldn't_ she? After the miniscule confrontation they had in the closet, her reaction, and her having the gall to visit Elise during her little shopping trip, Draco should have anticipated that this champagne dream would have been his damn nightmare. Already, he foresaw an evening filled to the brim with discomfort, practicing uncanny restraint by refraining from touching her, keeping his eyes from wandering too much, and constantly adjusting himself under the table.

"Well, well…" Blaise drawled, coming up beside Draco, who couldn't even tear his eyes away to acknowledge the man. He took this opportunity to stride over to Hermione. As per his character, he took up her hand and kissed her knuckles gently. "Mrs. Malfoy… ten points to Gryffindor." He stepped to his wife just then, who beamed brightly at him and extended her hand to him, which he took up and kissed with more gentility. "And you, dear wife, could not look more breathtaking if you tried."

"Too sweet, you are, husband," Astoria replied, sliding her arm into his own. Her bright blue eyes fell upon Draco and a slender, blonde brow raised. "Draco? Are you alright?"

Blaise chuckled at his wife's feigned innocence.

Draco blinked, glancing blankly to his guests, now reminded that their presence hindered him from doing anything truly outlandish. When he looked back at Granger, who appeared both nervous and bold all at once, his jaw was set, clenched. Gathering his confidence, he slid his hands from his pockets and put one foot in front of the other, walking to her without losing her stare once.

He gauged her reaction as he reached for her hand. She almost flinched, but he held her steady, drawing her un-kissed hand to his mouth. Much to her surprise, he never planted lips to knuckles, but turned her hand upwards and nestled a more intimate kiss to the center of her palm, not caring for the glimpse he caught of her _MUDBLOOD_ scar. He felt her limb shiver in his hold.

Hermione let out a bewildered sigh, hating that she was falling so deeply into this trap. This was not supposed to happen. The dress was supposed to torture _him_ , not her.

"My goodness…" Astoria said, throwing the couple an entertained grin before glancing back to her husband. "It looks like you've been topped, husband."

Blaise cast a bemused smirk down at her. "It would appear so. Shall we go first?"

The fireplace expanded to accommodate the extra person. Blaise and Astoria made their way into position, and before Hermione could gather her wits for protest, they disappeared in a flash of green flame. She could have sworn she saw the evil flicker reflecting in Malfoy's eyes, though he wasn't even facing the fireplace.

He was upright now, towering over her, studying her crimson-painted lips, wondering if he could get away with kissing her as viciously as he wanted to without smudging it. _Better not to risk it_ , he thought to himself. He couldn't mess up her hair. Her dress was perfectly pressed, so any wrinkling in the material would be noticed instantly. He reached out, unable to resist the temptation to trail his fingers along the center of her throat, to between her breasts, to her bellybutton, only to have the digits fall helplessly away.

"You're gonna pay for this, Granger," he said, but his voice was low, growling, and strained to the point where Hermione could not find herself feeling threatened at all.

"I can take it," she assured him, which caught his attention instantly. His gaze was dangerously dark as it bulldozed into her own. She raised her chin in defiance, even though she knew she looked hazy-eyed and desperate for something beyond this that she could not understand.

"No…" he trailed, inching closer. She felt his breath wash over his face. He must have already been a few drinks in. Her eyelids still fluttered closed and her chin instinctively tilted upwards. Lips parted… and then he was gone. Her eyes blinked open when she felt him guiding her hand into the crook of his elbow. "You really can't."

He guided her towards the fireplace and they met Blaise and Astoria on the other side.

Eventually, they were shown to their table. Hermione had been nervous in the beginning, but her anxiety ebbed away when supper was served, along with champagne. She had consumed a few glasses but did not feel the need to overload herself as she had on her wedding day. The pace of the conversation was lively and engaged, filled with gentle laughter and genuine personalities.

Even Blaise seemed to be interested in the things Hermione said, occasionally making a witty quip about her beauty that always threw her off. She was learning that Blaise was always going to be a natural flirt, even if he was dedicated completely to Astoria. She never seemed to mind the comments he made, which astonished Hermione. She was a woman thoroughly content in what she had, barren of a single sliver of jealousy.

The only thing putting her off was Draco's strange silence. He would comment on a few things, but for the most part, he allowed the conversations to be carried on around him. Sometimes, she would feel his stare burning into her cheek whenever she spoke, traveling down to the slit in her dress, which he seemed determined to be next to. She tried her best not to meet his eyes, keeping a remotely safe distance from him while maintaining conversational flow with the others.

He hated how indulgent Blaise was being. Most of dinner involved Draco concocting various schemes to torture Blaise in the future. The man was bold as brass, even going so far as to flirt with Hermione right in front of him. He needed to get a handle on this situation, or his _friend_ would never learn. Occasionally, his sights would drift to his wife, who was animated, with red cheeks and a bright, wide smile that cause enticing dimples to form in the corners. The only other time he had seen her smile like this was with Potter and Weasel.

Now, dessert had been served. Hermione had gone for a bowl of strawberries, which Draco already knew he would regret. Blaise had begun spinning a rather fine, lengthy story about how he slithered his way into becoming head of the Quidditch team in their seventh year, after the war had been won. Granger was smiling brightly, ready to take a large bite of a wanton strawberry. She ate slowly, tentatively, and Draco knew in that moment that he needed to regain control.

This whole time, he had been gradually inching his chair closer to her. Now that she was on her fourth glass of champagne, and thoroughly distracted, she didn't take note of his tight proximity. He curved a hand over his lips, staring with mild intrigue at Blaise, who was passing his words between Astoria and Granger. He owned the crowd, as usual. It was the perfect opportunity.

She tensed when his hand slipped over her knee, hidden under the tablecloth. Her first instinct was to call him out, but with the public setting, she didn't want the embarrassment of making a scene. She would likely pay for that tenfold when they were behind closed doors. Besides, what was she going to cry out? _My husband is touching me under the dinner table_? Yeah, because that would surely get him dragged away from her. Even in a classy place like this, she would either get all four of them kicked out of the building, or she would garner little more than a series of hysterical laughter from an entertained audience.

His fingers started tracing slow, sensual circles on the inside of her knee, shooting shocking shivers up her spine, which made her swat his hand away as subtly as she could. She caught him in the corner of her eye, suppressing a smirk behind his curled fingers as he kept his eyes locked on Blaise. He was entertained to find his friend remained ignorant to the activity beneath the table.

Hermione had missed some of the conversation, now that she was tuning back in, but Astoria had engaged Blaise well enough where he didn't notice the muggleborn faltering. She resumed eating another strawberry, only to find that as soon as her lips closed over the meat of it, Malfoy grew bolder. His hand slipped under the satin fabric, mid-thigh, making her pause and stiffen mid-chew. She reached beneath the table and latched her free hand onto his wrist, intent on pulling it away from her. When his fingers dug in, keen on staying in place, they were at a silent standoff. She refused to look at him, avoiding the unwanted attention.

"Hermione?" Astoria called out. Hermione's gaze snapped to her. "Are you alright? You've gone quiet."

She realized she still had the strawberry in her mouth, then nodded, finishing her bite. She swallowed hard and her grip on Malfoy's wrist lessened. His fingers softened on her thigh, almost making her melt as they began tracing a delicate path to her knee, guiding the slit of the fabric off so her limb was bared to his cruel intentions.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied in a strained voice. "I've had a bit too much champagne. I get a bit quiet whenever I go over my limit. I apologize."

"Nonsense!" Malfoy's fingers trailed up to the utmost V of the slit, then back down to her knee, spreading long fingers over the flesh possessively. Tingles darted through every inch of her. "I just wanted to make sure Blaise hadn't lost you."

"Of course not!" Up… down… up… down… "I—I was actually very entertained by the story. What did Flint say when you went over his head like that?"

She was astonished she was able to pick up the last part of what Blaise had said. The beautiful Italian slipped right back into his tall tale. Malfoy's fingers drew intense patterns on her flesh that eventually led to the inside of her thigh. Her knees clenched together, effectively trapping his hand for a moment between quivering limbs. He massaged her leg in an almost compartmentalized reassurance, still never looking at her once. She picked up a strawberry to make herself look occupied, eating it very slowly. When she found herself unable to hold her thighs together any longer, he softly guided them apart singlehandedly, continuing his idle designs as she succumbed to him.

This was not supposed to happen. This night was supposed to be about her happiness, not his. She was supposed to spurn these advances, and yet here he was, muddling her mind far more than necessary. He was ripping down every brick in her walls of feeble defense. With a stony expression and a hand venturing unknown territories, Hermione's mind was growing too fuzzy to concentrate, and dare she admit: a part of her was beginning to enjoy it.

It was getting too hot in this place. Her back was stiff to the point of aching. He resumed trailing the pads of his digits up, then down… then up… then down. Each stroke upwards brought him closer to a heat that she found begging to be touched. She almost choked on one of her strawberries when his knuckles barely brushed the sensitive outskirts of her, making her whole body flare up with a need she had not expected.

He stilled to let her recover, then trailed back down…

Then up, up, _up_ …

It took her a moment to realize that Draco was speaking. While digits stroked the outer edge of her underwear, he had now leaned across the table slightly, speaking nonchalantly to Astoria and Blaise, who were focused strictly on him as he worked. They were superbly distracted, and Hermione was torn viciously between pleasure and the most severe anxiety. His fingers left her, which almost had her whimpering aloud. She managed to suppress it, he trailed to her knee, then back again, giving into her silent pleas so generously that a wave of sheer desire ripped mercilessly through her.

 _That son of a bitch_.

She almost moaned, biting hard into her last strawberry while he boldly applied a wonderful pressure against the cloth guarding her bundle of nerves so feebly. So shocked that she tried to wiggle her hips away from his hand, lest she start moaning at the dinner table. He followed, relentlessly and lightly rubbing against her heat to the point where the pleasure was too overwhelming to resist. Hermione screamed internally and forced herself to sit still, though she was tempted on several occasions to spread herself open in such a way that would have been totally unacceptable in public.

She was trying not to squirm in her seat as he played with her in tentative strokes, inching her dangerously close to an edge that might make her lose control. She could feel the fabric of her underwear becoming uncomfortably slick from his attentions, and the empty ache that haunted her this whole time was now roaring to be filled, making her whole body quiver. Hermione chewed slowly, hiding behind the large fruit and hoping that neither of their friends noticed her as she closed her eyes and released a shuddering breath, trying to keep her composure, inching closer, closer, and _closer_ …

"Well." Astoria's voice rang out. Her delicate palms slapped lightly onto the surface of the table. "I hate to be the first to say it. This has been such a wonderful day. However, I am quite exhausted."

"Of course," Draco said, and Hermione could have _screamed_ when his hand left her just as she was about to be tossed off the precipice of something positively delicious. She swallowed it down with the last of her strawberry and used her napkin to wipe her mouth, silently thanking God's good graces that her dress was spelled by Elise to repel stains.

She hurried around the table to give Astoria a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for visiting. I do hope you'll come and see me again."

The blonde witch smiled. "Of course, I will. Now that I've heard you sing once, I demand another performance."

Hermione blushed, but nodded. Blaise had kissed her hand when he left, looking at her with an almost amused expression that made her feel like he knew something he wasn't telling her.

The goodbyes were too swift. They returned to the house too quickly. Hermione hadn't even bothered to wait for Draco to get his licks in. He watched with a sense of overwhelming pride as she almost tripped over herself, hurdling up the stairs to hide away in her bedroom. Though he felt a strange sinking in his stomach, he let her go, pleased enough that in the end, she had opened to him so generously.

Once he was alone, he brought the fingers he touched her with directly to his mouth, still able to taste some of the sweetness of her.

Enticing.

He decided to have a cup of tea before heading to bed, idly delving into one of the books Granger had been halfway through. He wasn't paying much attention to the words but thinking about the events of the last few days. They weren't exactly civil with one another, but they were getting too comfortable. _She_ was getting too comfortable, which meant he must have been getting too lenient.

A very prominent part of him demanded that he stay on course, but another part of him felt… tired. He was trying desperately to shove aside that feeling, but every time he pushed, the exhaustion grew bolder, consuming all intelligible thought and swallowing it down into dark depths.

He wished he could have touched her in the privacy of his own bed. The cries she suppressed surprisingly well had carried over to his ears alone and he wanted them amplified to ridiculous heights. When he had kissed her before, in the midst of a drunken stupor, he still felt the tingle in his lips when she returned with a tenfold fire. Playing with embers would inevitably make her ignite. That night, he had caught a minor, scalding glimpse, and he found _himself_ afraid of the flame. He knew he should have been raging at the concept, but once more, that nagging tiredness made his muscles weak, and the warmth of her soothed his bones.

He contemplated booking himself another meeting with Lucius, but even that idea sounded too trite.

He eventually found himself climbing the steps with heavy feet, merging onto the next floor. Draco was silent as he passed by her door but paused when something caught his attention.

A noise. A sigh?

Was she… crying?

There was no light coming from under her door. He took silent steps to the edge of the barricade, tilting his head to try and dig out the source of the noise. He heard another small noise that sounded much like a whimper, but it did not carry with it the same tone of sorrow that he had grown accustomed to. It sounded breathless and desperate; _begging_.

He felt his length twitch attentively upon realization.

Heavens, Granger was touching herself.

Another small cry of pleasure filled his ears and he considered the possibilities. Opening the door, no matter the intent, would ruin the moment. With the ache he had straining against the fabric of his pants, he heavily contemplated slipping his hand around the base of himself to join her in some way. The notion of meeting their climaxes was tempting, but that was too much. Besides, if she finished before him, then there was a chance she would come out of the room, and he hardly wanted her to know that he was just as tormented as she was.

He found a certain amount of satisfaction in simply _listening_ , feeling a bit like a voyeur.

Another noise of pleasure, this time a bit louder, and a bit choked. It was followed by whimpers and breathless pants. He could already imagine her sprawled out on the bed, hand shyly tucked between her legs, teeth worrying that lower lip, hair wild around her head. Chest rising and falling rapidly with panicked, spine curving in a bow away from the softness of the bed beneath her; frenzied pleasure. He doubted that her fingers felt half as good as his, and the idea amused him. He had been cruel enough to leave her so wanton that she was forced to tend to her desires herself.

It was nice to know he had such an effect.

 _C'mon, Granger… you can do it_ , he willed, leaning into the doorframe as his ears strained. Suddenly, she had gone quiet, and all he heard were small breaths emitting in bleats from behind the door. He blinked. Was that it? Was she trying to suppress her noise? _Damn. I thought you had more zest._

He had been about to step away from the door, but stopped when he heard a series of small, desperate moans and kittenish cries. Beautifully, helplessly broken, and he had no desire to fix them. They emerged from her trembling body in sweet, rhythmic succession, calling on the glorious end to her hourly suffering. He heard her draw in a shaky breath when she was finished, only to sigh it out in complete satisfaction.

 _Good girl_.

For a moment, he contemplated disrupting her pleasant aftermath, but decided against it.

 _Best to deal with it tomorrow._

With that in mind, he stepped soundlessly away from her door and disappeared into his own room, a wolfish grin being hidden as he shut himself in for the night.


	12. Wonder What You Are

**WONDER WHAT YOU ARE**

Hermione awoke with the rising sun the next morning, dread eating away at her stomach. She fought for her life as she picked herself up out of bed and slipped on a thick robe over her nightgown, then made her way silently into her bathroom to shower. It didn't wash off the remnants of misguided, furious passion that clung to her skin from the night before, nor did it clear the confusing bout of fog that clogged her mind. Her skin tingled in such a way that made her incapable of blindly hating Malfoy the way she used to. Her stomach still clenched with an irritating nervousness, now hand-in-hand with a baffling excitement that made her linger in stasis under steaming hot water for much longer than necessary.

When she had exited the shower, and took the time to style her hair, a part of her was disgustingly eager to put on whatever Pips had laid out for the day. The bottom had to fall out eventually, right? She had been drowning in mixed signals and ulterior motives and didn't know right from wrong anymore. With him, everything was just so maddeningly… grey. For a moment, Hermione considered the idea that he might have been just as lost and confused as she was about this whole thing, but she cast the thought aside instantly when she reminded herself of all the horrendous things he had done before. There was no way the man had no idea what he was doing. He touched her with such silken confidence that had no room for second-guesses.

 _Sometimes, Hermione, those who show only the darkest parts of themselves need the most light. Unfortunately, these same people have no idea they need it, let alone how to get it,_ her mother once said.

 _ **Since when is it my job to rehabilitate psychopaths?**_ Hermione thought.

Malfoy was probably eating breakfast, concocting some brand-new episode of torment, probably intending to hold the intimacy of their previous night over her head. Hermione was not fool enough to think she would get out of this situation without facing some form of embarrassment, yet she couldn't find the strength to bury down her damnable excitement.

Surely, the Stockholm Syndrome was beginning to take hold; the need to find the good in the bad becoming so prominent that she was willing to overlook his unforgivable cruelty. Or, perhaps it was because she now felt so alone without her friends and family, that she would do anything just to feel _close_ to someone, even if it was _him_.

Hermione sighed, now smoothing down the light, airy fabric of her pink sundress. She could have spent this whole time badgering herself for even remotely enjoying Malfoy's touch, but what was the point? Now locked into eternity with the man, being barred from contact with her friends, having no alternate dating opportunities (thanks to the fidelity clause in the Marriage Law), and having zero alternative dating prospects, there wasn't much of a choice when it came to intimacy and the cure for loneliness.

 _Even if you had other options, would they even touch you the way he did?_

Nobody had touched her the way Malfoy had. Viktor had been grabby and rough. He knew what he wanted, but he was hardly gentle about it. It made Hermione uncomfortable enough to tell him to back off before things got serious. Ron had been a bit selfish, mostly liking the idea of her touching him, which was fine, except he brought it up in such a way that didn't attract her. She had brought him to completion with her hands only once, and after that, his insecurities and lack of reciprocation had disrupted any desire she had to touch him at all. Two years running, staying in no place more than two or three weeks, Hermione needed at least _some_ emotional ties to build up a more intimate relationship.

But Malfoy? Heavens. Despite his cruelty, his selfishness, his arrogance, and his need to destroy everything good in her life, the way he touched her was next to godliness. Given who he was, and the stories that followed his sterling reputation in physical intimacy, Hermione envisioned him being a selfish lover; a man who had no interest in pleasing anyone but himself. She saw him being as quick to get in as he was quick to get out. She should have known that theory was wrong the moment he made her strip after their engagement party. The way his eyes roved over her so slowly, and with how controlled his actions were, he was practically another species. Last night, he had touched her the exact same way he looked at her, with a hidden fervor that he took his time with, leaving her breathless and craven to the point where she couldn't resist bringing herself to climax while thinking of him.

It was possible to hate someone completely, yet still want their hands on you, right?

Malfoy was also no stranger. They had a connection already, albeit a terrible one. She had grown up with him, they had fought endlessly for years, and now she was married to him. Though they were married, she still hated the things he represented, but was it still wrong to indulge in the more carnal pleasures that marriage offered? Was it still wrong for a part of her to want to make the best of a situation that was so miserable? Was it wrong to unleash the desire to kill loneliness, even if her companion fit no criteria for something emotionally fulfilling?

 _Fucking_ Stockholm Syndrome.

She damned him seven ways to Sunday several times before she gathered the courage to venture downstairs. She also fixed her dress several times, though she was pleased to be barefoot for once. The heels she had worn last night had made her intent on giving her aching arches a break. Plus, a small part of her hoped that Malfoy would put his focus for daily scrutiny on the barbaric act of not wearing shoes, instead of focusing on more embarrassing, yet undeniably exciting topics.

The witch doubted she would be so lucky.

He would probably pick on both.

She was not surprised to find him calmly eating his breakfast. She _was_ surprised to find that he had not even bothered to acknowledge her presence as she sat down at the opposite end of the table. Hermione watched as her plate filled with food. A bowl of strawberries sat next to her plate, taunting her. She gulped, ignoring the desire to consume them, and picked up her fork to take a mouthful of eggs.

"Worked up an appetite, have you?"

Draco's smooth drawl almost made her choke. She looked up at him, now seeing the man appearing quite pleased with himself. Dare she say, he looked positively _giddy_ , considering his usual scowl was nowhere on his face. She looked back down at her plate to avoid the stare.

"Don't think I've ever seen you skip the fruit and go right for the meal before, Granger. You have a routine."

Hermione paused, her gaze flicking between her plate and the fruit. She offered a helpless shrug and ignored the blush creeping into her cheeks.

"I didn't feel like strawberries this morning."

"Pity." He leaned forward, taking another bite of his food.

She waited with bated breath for another comment. When she heard none, she seized the opportunity to change the subject.

"So, what's going to happen when we get back to the Manor?"

"Haven't decided," he replied, wiping his mouth as he leaned back in his seat, watching her squirm under his gaze. "I wonder… could those strawberries possibly relate to why you won't look at me?"

No response. She shoveled another forkful of food into her mouth to refrain from answering his questions. Draco felt the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. The girl was hopeless. He had no doubt that she struggled from the night, well into the morning, straddling the line of pain and pleasure, hating and wanting him. After hearing her desperate, breathy, soft cries from the other side of her bedroom door, he couldn't blame the girl. She hit the melting pot and now she had no shape, no form, no agency. He could tell that she was trying to get it back, but she was faltering.

She didn't know where she stood.

Good.

Neither did he.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with how I touched you last night, would it?"

 _Now_ she looked at him, wide-eyed and shocked. He watched her swallow hard, anger spun into her features. Her eyes narrowed hard on him.

"Malfoy, you will _never_ touch me like that again. Ever."

"I beg to differ. If you really wanted me to stop, you would have worked a little wandless magic and I would've been thrown across the room. You didn't. You grabbed my wrist once, and then you spread your legs for me." He watched with a twinkle in his eyes as her spine went rigid and her eyes widened. "You could have told me outright to stop and embarrassed me in front of Blaise and Astoria, or the whole restaurant… but you didn't. You let me touch you, Granger." He pushed himself up from his seat, choosing to move slow in stride when he saw her tense further. "Though I may not have had the pleasure of _seeing you_ in the throes of wild passion, it certainly _felt_ like you were enjoying yourself. Tell me I'm wrong."

He closed in at a turtle's pace, reaching the end of the table and drawing up a chair next to her. She leaned away from him, but he never moved to grab her. For now, he wanted her comfortable with his proximity.

"Although… you did seem to be in quite a hurry to get away from me last night. Considering how wet you were, I find it hard to believe that it was because of dissatisfaction."

"Perhaps revulsion, then?" Hermione offered, picking at her plate with her fork. She still wouldn't look at him.

"No, that's not it. Revulsion dries a woman up fairly quick—"

"Oh, God! Must you always talk like that?" She snapped, looking at him fully in a wave of anger.

Draco threw his hands up. "I'm just being honest, Granger." He rested his elbow casually on the table, as if he had been sitting next to the woman his whole life. "There's nothing wrong with admitting that you liked how I touched you. It doesn't make you sick, you know. Just makes you human."

"No. I don't believe that," Hermione said finally.

Draco tilted his head, and Hermione was surprised to find him so curious. Did he genuinely believe what he was saying?

Merlin. How could a single person be so shrouded in darkness?

"Malfoy, there is nothing but bad blood between us. You want my suffering, not my pleasure, nor my happiness. You say you're going to bring me Hell, and yet… you kiss me, like you did that night in the sitting room, and… suddenly, it's like I'm seeing a different side of you; like you're the one being tormented." She watched as his mouth twitched and the color drained partially from his face. "And then you _touch me_ like that, and it's like this is all a cog in whatever grand scheme you have. There might be nothing wrong with wanting someone, or… being _human_ … but with you? It's wrong. It just is, because… there's nothing about you that I should desire at all." She shook her head for emphasis, feeling tears welling in her eyes. "If you're trying to make me go mad, then congratulations. You win. I'm bloody barmy, and I'm not about to ask you why you're doing this, because I know you won't give me a straight answer—"

"You're all I've got."

She blinked. "What?"

Her chair raked along the floorboards, making a squeak burst from her lungs as she was dragged closer to him, knees-to-knees. He set his legs on either side of hers, reaching out to cup her face in the gentlest manner as he closed his mouth around her own. He did it so she wouldn't see the bareness of his expression; so he wouldn't have to repeat the words that he never should have said in the first place.

 _Fuck_.

Two years of chasing were taking their toll.

Blaise was _right_.

Fantasies and reality were not meant to mix. That's why one was chased, and the other was avoided.

All the time spent tracking, planning, and waiting for the time he would get his hands on her. Now that all his plans had come to a head, he was getting precisely what he wanted, and he could have sworn he felt his own hands shaking as he clutched her cheeks. He could have sworn he felt tears streaming against his thumbs, and he swiped the offending badges from her flesh while he conquered more of her terrain.

He had allowed himself to want her all those days ago, in the changeroom of Elise's shop – not just conquer, like he had planned on doing all along, but to _desire_ her. He had allowed himself to feel unworthy of her, which left an endless ache in his chest. He had allowed himself to succumb to jealousy for all the attention she was getting from another man.

She was all he had.

She was the years wasted, the commitment made, the core of his suffering, and he bloody well _married_ her.

Enemy or not, target or not, Granger or not, she was the end.

She was _his_ end.

He knew that now. He knew that as he inched closer to her and moved his hands away from her face. He knew, as he released her and she never hesitated or pulled away from him when she had every chance. He knew, as he adjusted their positions, as he brought her legs up to dangle over his knees, as he scraped the seat of her chair flush against his own, and as the desire to bring her pleasure far outweighed any desire for his own, that this damage could never be undone.

 _You're all I've got_.

She trembled against his mouth as she was brought ever closer to him. Now, his hands were smoothing from knees to hips, riding the fabric of her dress up far enough where she felt terribly exposed. All she knew was that his kiss was more attentive every time he met her lips, and she had no desire to stop it. His tongue lightly guided her open, dipping in to taste in such a way that made her sigh out against him. Eventually, he grappled her hips, jerking her up to straddle his lap, which made her squeak in response to the movement.

Hermione had yet to register that her hands were now braced against his shoulders, slowly working up to cup his neck. She could have sworn she felt the rumble in his throat as his lips abandoned her own and began nipping along her jawline, trailing lust to her ear.

"I heard you last night, you know," he hissed. He sounded so strained against her flesh, but his actions were so controlled. Long, firm fingers trailed up her thighs again, roving bravely over her rear. He gripped and kneaded, lightly rolling her hips over his. She felt him growing under the fabric of his pants, still overwhelmingly hard. When a particular roll of the hips caused her heat to brush against it, she let out a choked whimper of surprise. He chuckled into her ear and she shuddered, feeling suddenly small. "You sounded just like that when you came."

Her breath hitched in her throat, eyes wide for a split-second before she snapped them shut and wished herself out of existence.

Had he really _heard_ her?

The gentle massage of his fingers on her ass reminded her that it wasn't possible to melt away. She tensed still, but he never seemed fazed by it.

"Did you think of me?" The question was cracked down the middle as he struggled to keep his eyes on his goal. This wasn't about him. Not right now. He bit gently into her neck when he received no response outside of breathless pants, she whimpered again. "Don't be scared, Granger. Answer me." Now he sounded more composed. He initiated another torturous roll of her hips, pulling back to watch as her jaw dropped open from the friction. Her short hair was lightly tousled about her face, some longer strands sticking to her full, tempting mouth.

She bit her lip to keep from responding, but nodded with her eyes tightly shut, afraid of her own desires.

 _Beautiful_.

"What did you imagine?"

Her face contorted in a pleasurable worry. She began biting her lower lip, still unable to meet his eyes. Her head lolled forward as he rolled her over him and she gave a bashful shake of her head, far too embarrassed to confess her sins. He surrendered to her shy silence and resumed a line of kisses and nips along her neck, hitting the sweet spot beneath her ear, which offered him another choked noise in her throat as tribute. He swallowed it down with greed.

 _You're all I've got_.

"Did you wish it was me touching you?"

A few torturous bouts of silence passed before she found her strength to respond. He felt her nod slowly against his cheek and found himself smirking against her skin.

She tasted wonderful.

 _Strawberries_.

Draco felt his hands grow braver, one of them leaving a cheek behind to trail the inside of her thigh; a reward for her confessions. He felt her quiver wonderfully as he tinkered around the hem of her underwear, pushing down the desire to dip under the pair. He could already feel the overwhelming heat radiating from her, but he needed to move slowly. He waited for her trembling to calm before he inched closer, dragging knuckles over where that precious bundle of nerves rested, remotely untouched, protected by a feeble layer of fabric. She whimpered again, and he smiled, paying special attention to the spot beneath her ear to maintain her compliance through mediocre distraction.

She was melting in his hands, now a mass of messy hair, shaking limbs, and breathy whimpers. She felt his fingers trail over her heat again, teasing her like he had the night before. On instinct, her fingers slid into his hair and tugged gently. Another growl rumbled in his throat, causing him to dive in. His fingers pressed boldly against her heat and began a gentle, torturous rhythm that shot a shiver up her spine. His mouth worked tentatively against her neck, biting her occasionally in a way that urged her to tilt her head and grant him more access.

"Would you like me to touch you now?"

He felt her nod again, now braver. No spotlight, no jest, just darkness and wordless honesty. His fingers dabbled over the fabric of her panties, only taking the next step when he felt her beginning to rock into his palm. While it abandoned its post and trailed under the skirt of her dress to her bellybutton, he heard a strangled cry of protest leave her. He decided to reward the noise by gliding his hand under the cloth guarding her heat and dipping his fingers into the wetness.

God, he was everywhere at once. Distracting her anxiety by paying worship to the flesh of her neck, swirling fingers around the delicate bundle of nerves, and whispering words to her that surely would have had any other man with a fat, red handprint on their cheek. Now, she felt his free hand leave its home and traverse up her side.

Up, up, _up_ …

She practically mewled as his thumb strolled casually over the peak of her breast, making it taut and ready for more attention. The noise she made couldn't cover the groan she heard tear out of him. It surprised her to think he was getting so much satisfaction out of this. She felt so displayed, but every time she considered pushing him away, her body would receive another delicious wave of pleasure that kept her trapped in place. She didn't even realize that she was rolling her hips into his hand, or that he was following every motion with a practiced fluidity that pronounced his impressive self-control.

He felt her falter when he tapped his index against the succulent gate of her. Even brushing the rim of the entrance, he shuddered to think of how tight she would be. He felt her still. The rim flexed, already intent on keeping away intrusion. He felt her fingers snake around his wrist, flexing and releasing, as though she were unsure of this step.

Draco removed himself from her neck. She had not asked him to stop, but she was now staring down at him with wild, wide eyes, torn between concern and ecstasy. Their gazes locked, his hand stilled, and he felt everything. Her body was shaking like a leaf, luscious and brokenly wanton. One hand was gripping his shoulder, tense and unsure, while the one wrapped around his wrist held a cracked foundation of formidability. He kept his sights steadily on her own, expression calm and sure, countering her anxiety. He felt her hips twitch in a silent desire to take back her pleasures.

"Relax, Granger," he said, his voice calmer than he anticipated. "I won't hurt you."

Shock splashed across her eyes. The words were almost foreign on his tongue, but he shoved them out anyway. This wasn't about him.

 _You're all I've got_.

He didn't move right away when her grip loosened, even when she nodded her consent. Instead, he teased the entrance of her, drawing the lightest circles until he felt her body begin to relax again. He counted the seconds, drew the English alphabet against her wetness, then the alphabet he had learned in Ancient Runes, then whatever other numerical system he could think of. When her hips rolled against his hand in silent encouragement, he pushed through, letting out a strangled sound when he discovered that he could barely work a single finger into her without meeting impressive resistance.

The filthiest questions sat on the tip of his tongue, but he needed to word them properly. Strictly _yes-and-no_ , considering she was not capable of speech. He inwardly patted himself on the back for such an accomplishment. Most of the witches he had been with had little issue telling him what they wanted, or how they wanted him.

"Granger…" she looked down at him, half-lidded and lost. He liked her looking this way, but he'd be damned if he didn't admit that it was absolute torture. He needed this. He needed to know. Functioning sentences were the only way to get through this without tossing her onto the table and adhering to his own selfish needs. _It's not about me_ , he reminded himself. He pushed the single digit further inside, garnering a kittenish whimper from her. The woman would be the death of him yet. "Have you ever touched yourself like this?"

He watched as her cheeks flushed a deeper, lovelier red. A huff of shocked breath pushed a few strands of hair out of her face. She nodded once. That just prodded more questions that he knew wouldn't get answered anytime soon. He stowed them away for another time.

"Has anyone else touched you like this?"

She shook her head 'no', and he felt like a god.

He dug deeper, stopping only when he felt the barrier. She tensed, and he withdrew by a fraction, reassuring her.

When she relaxed, he began his rhythm, watching the tension ebb away from her as her head lolled forward. He moved to meet her, catching her lips in a searing kiss that sucked the air directly from her lungs. He then trailed to the other side of her neck, feeling her reel and clench around him. The sounds that met his ears were heavenly rewards. She wasn't dramatic, nor loud. She was a series of soft, strangled whimpers and mewls that could have been meager whispers. He rewarded her with fervor, gradually quickening his pumping pace until she was a mess in his grip. He felt her hands, unsure of their place, now squeezing and releasing his shoulders.

 _Fuck_. He was losing control.

He needed more. _So much more_.

His pace slowed, wanting to drag out the satisfaction. His lips found her earlobe and he nipped it, making her shiver. His cock was straining so hard against his pants that it was almost painful, only getting the tiniest friction from the rolls of her hips.

 _I need this, too. I need this._

"Say my name."

She emitted a series of small sounds and squeaks, trying to find her words. His pace became torturously slow in response to her hesitation. She was practically simpering in need, but Merlin, he needed this more. Just for now; just for a moment. He needed that reassurance; that validation; that _anything_ , which would determine his value to her. He didn't care if this was it. He didn't care if this would steal away breath and bone. He needed her to know him; to _see_ him.

"Say it."

"P—please," she whispered, choking on the word.

 _Beg one more time and you'll get a whole lot more than what I'm giving you, Granger_.

 _ **Control it. Control it.**_

 _Fuck._

"I'll give you what you want. Just say it." He paused, compartmentalizing his own desires to make his command firmer. " _Now_."

"D—Draco."

He almost lost it. The word was a bloody breathy hymn on the girl's tongue, featherlight and taunting, barely audible, but it was _there_. The most innocent of ecstasies.

"Draco… please…"

 _Granger, you're killing me._

His devious greed gripped his ego tightly, roaring for more. Maybe he could get more than a few nods from her, after all. Feeling his confidence peak, he withdrew from her neck, maintaining his composure as he dipped his finger into her at a turtle's pace. She was giving him easier entry, but she was still excruciatingly tight. He withdrew and readied an added finger to the rim of her, restarting his process of teasing just to watch the look of utter torment and nervousness flashing across her face.

"Please, what?" He prodded, pressing his forehead to hers. "Tell me what you want, Granger."

"P—please, just… let—let me… God, _please_ …" Her eyes slammed shut when she found herself incapable of saying the words.

He tried a different approach, now rubbing two fingers over her entrance. She was dripping over his hand. Fuck, he couldn't take much more of this. He tested the waters of his experiment instead, pushing the pair of digits into her slowly. He opened his eyes just in time to watch her mouth fall open in mild discomfort and pleasurable shock.

He liked when her mouth was open like that. Another piece of her ready to be filled and relished. Briefly, he wondered if she would get just as much satisfaction in making him find the hidden corners of ecstasy. He let himself imagine full lips brushing the base of his cock, which twitched in response.

He bit back a groan.

 _ **Control it, dammit**_.

"You want me to let you cum?"

She nodded.

Progress.

"Then I'm gonna need something in return."

Her eyes snapped open, and he met them with confidence. She was trying so hard to maintain composure, but it was difficult when he was teasing her to the brink of complete madness. His fingers belonged on the Devil's hand, sliding casually into her like a snake waiting to attack. She already felt stretched. Occasionally, his palm slipped over the bundle of nerves and sent commanding shockwaves through her, reminding her that her end was near, but it wouldn't take her without his decree. The hand on her breast was now rolling its peak between its fingers, utilizing the soft fabric as an added tool of pleasure by scraping it against the budding, sensitive tip.

 _Whatever you want, just say it, I'll do it, just please… please…_ _ **pleaseletmehavethis**_ _…_

His lips found her ear again, hissing gently into the shell when she wiggled in his grip.

"Don't ever touch yourself like this again. _I_ give you this. Do you understand?"

When he heard her gasp – possibly on the verge of telling him _no_ – he countered with a shocking motion. One hand slid into the V-neck of her dress, cupping her bare breast and pinching the nipple firmly enough where she squeaked. Her hips bucked once, forcing his fingers deeper, which made his grin strained and wolfish. The apex of her thighs brushed against his length, giving him courage. His hands stilled, and her need was immediate. She pushed herself with a delicate, throaty desperation into his hands, but he still refused to budge.

"Mark my words, Granger," he began, his tone gravelly, yet serene and collected. He found control in her chaotic need. It was enough of a high to keep him occupied. "I may not be inside you right now, but one day, I'll be buried to the fucking _hilt_." She shivered in response. The man's way with words was enough to almost finish her off right there. If she thought this was the end of his suavity, she was pleasurably mistaken. "On that day, when you're begging me to give you what you want, any ounce of leniency I have will be entirely dependent on this moment." He nipped the lobe of her ear for emphasis, releasing a hot sigh of satisfaction into her ear when she choked out a whimper and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her nails were close to tearing through the fabric. The woman was pleasure incarnate. "Nobody touches you this way but me. _Do you understand?_ "

A beat of silence passed.

 _C'mon, Granger, I need this. Just give me this. Just this._

"Y—yes… I… I understand."

 _Thank fuck_.

"Good girl."

He pinched her breast and thrust the pair of digits in hard, relishing the cry of surprise that rewarded him. Draco kept his pace, pumping fingers like pistons into her, using his palm to extract more pleasure from her clit. She clenched so tightly that he was certain he was losing circulation in his hand. The palm kneading her breast left her, now roaming around her back as he felt her trembling harder in his arms. He utilized her distractions with the boldest fervor, now dipping his head to catch her exposed breast in his mouth.

Her cries were of the purest worship, and he had become deified.

 _Not long now._

He pinned her to him, steadying her as he felt her body giving way. She clenched tighter, hips rolling without merit. He followed like a beggar, grazing his teeth over her breast before releasing a groan and consuming the flesh of her with an invigorated greed. She dug fingers into his hair, pulling hard. He lost control, motions adopted a frantic speed.

She went quiet, and he held his breath. Calm before the storm.

 _That's it, Granger._

The series of broken, breathy moans and hitches in her throat that followed her to the end were enough to make his body go irreparably tense. Ripples hugged his fingers, almost refusing to release him. His cock twitched again, needing the most attention. He ignored it, spiting his own desires by biting gently into her flesh and pulling back to watch the rapture, repeating low, proud growls of "good girl" and "that's a good girl" as she surrendered to the id. She shuddered from the sensitivity of her own body, and he held her still, forcing her to let him ride her out. Fresh juices coated him, rolling helplessly into his palm until the waves lessened their crashes; until the stars began to fade behind her eyes.

He pulled back to watch her in the stupor of her aftermath. Removing his fingers from her as she shuddered, he let her linger in her stasis, drawing her skirt with astonishing gentility back down her legs, then fixing the strap of her dress and covering her breast. His fingers ghosted over her shoulder, sizing her up as her breath found an even pace and her eyes fluttered open again.

Half-lidded and lazy, their gazes met. He looked strained yet composed, resting his hands on her hips in such a soft way that made her feel comforted. He made no jabs, no snide remarks, and sought no insult. Flashes of unreadable emotions danced in faint twinkles behind silver eyes, igniting the most curious fascination in her.

She felt a hidden honesty being satisfied in him and watched as his eyes closed. He took a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. For the briefest moment, his grip tightened on her hips, rolling them one last time into his own before he succumbed. Then, Draco released, breath and all, easing her bum back into her old seat. He treated her like porcelain, then set her on her shelf.

Hermione briefly glanced away when he adjusted himself, but her eyes flashed back to him when he stood, finding only his spine retreating from view.

He left through the floo, and she was abandoned to her worries.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Seduction was the intent, of course. Draco would have been a fool to petition for Granger's hand in marriage with any intent to remain celibate. He was still crashing, still burning. He washed his hands twice before he left, and he still couldn't get the memory of her off his fingers. He couldn't get the taste of morning coffee and breathless innocence off his tongue. He thought he had himself under taut control, but that was before he found her writhing in his lap, watching her lose all inhibition, paying tribute to her passions like she was some pied piper and he was simply a worshipper.

She was a siren, calling him to his untimely demise on shallow rocks. What terrified him more was that he could not bring himself to care about his own catastrophic destruction. Draco had tried to stop the swell of pride in his chest when she succumbed to his infantile demands, when she said his name and _begged_ , when she dug nails into his shoulders and gave her pleasure over to him. The whole idea of seduction was to have her eager to have him, not eager to be pleased by him. Yet, here he was, garnering no pleasure in return, yet exceedingly proud that he had brought her to the most exquisite full.

It was hard to be disappointed in himself when she looked so damn satisfied. It was also worse that he found himself eager to perform the act all over again, not even regarding the possibility of his own release. What the hell was becoming of him?

 _You're all I've got_.

 _ **Fuck off, you ponce**_.

He raked his hands over his face as he waited in his usual room, slumping in his chair. He was waiting for his father to be brought to him, while simultaneously fighting every cell in his body that told him to leave; to go back _home_ , where his _wife_ was waiting for more of the ecstasies he had to offer; where there was one person who _saw_ him, and who wanted him, even if it was only in a physical sense. Something about this dank, dark place began making him want to scratch his skin to get the deathwatches out. Something about this place was cold, distant, and… not _her_.

Fuck.

He wanted to go… _home_.

That feeling was stilled the moment the Azkaban guards opened the door, dragging Lucius along with them. He didn't fight them, merely shuffling listlessly along cobblestone with bare feet that looked a little blue. Draco frowned, hating the lack of maintenance in this place. They chained Lucius to his seat and nodded briefly to Draco in greeting, then showed themselves out of the room.

Draco leaned over, deciding to initiate conversation this time. He let his elbows fall onto his knees, staring down at the floor. His white-blonde hair dipped into his eyes and he suddenly found no strength to push it away from his face. It made him feel shielded.

"I don't know what's happening to me, father," he began, wincing at the name. He hadn't used it in a while. "Mother is gone, you know. She died last year. You don't remember, but… she did." _You're all I've got_. He winced again. "Something's changed, father, I'm not—I don't know what I'm doing anymore." A beat rested between them. "I planned everything, I knew every move on the board. I knew where every piece was supposed to be placed. But now… now, it's like there's no board anymore. It's like the pieces are missing. Like she just came back, and…" _and took it all from me? Wiped the board clean? Demolished it entirely? What the hell did she do to me?_ "—and I'm starting to think that this whole thing… it's just… _useless_."

 _Another lesson learned, yeah?_

 _ **Not now, Blaise**_ _._

"No… no… nononononooooo…" Lucius whimpered, shaking his bowed head. "Told the Dark Lord that my _son_ would take the Mark. Honor must be held… I told you to STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, YOU FILTHY LITTLE BLOOD TRAITOR! NO SON OF MINE WOULD WASH HANDS WITH SUCH FILTH!"

Draco rolled his eyes at himself when he jumped, threading his fingers through his hair as his head hung lower.

"—BURN HIM OFF THE TAPESTRIES! GET THE TORCH! DON'T HIDE YOUR EYES FROM ME, BOY! SEE YOU! I SEE YOU! DARE TO MOCK! BREEDING WITH FILTH! SMEARING THE NAME! TRAITOR!"

The rattles of his father's chains wove in and out of his ears as Lucius strained to get up from his seat, shouting obscenities at him. As much as he opened his ears to receive, the word was not filtering through.

Didn't give the same charge.

Draco looked down at his hands, surprised to find them perfectly steady. His eyebrows pinched down in confusion and he dared to meet his father's crazed gaze. He recalled the emotion of pity, which normally lead straight to anger, thus leading to the drive for vengeance. Now, he stopped at pity, and a nagging in the back of his mind that no matter what he did to even the odds, the ends would remain the same.

His father would still be without his mind, rotting away in this damned place.

His mother would still be dead.

Granger would still be his wife.

Unable to quell this feeling, Draco moved without thought. He got up from his seat in the midst of his father's shouts. He turned away from the old man and walked through the door, hearing "TRAITOR" one last time before he shut the damn thing behind him.

 _Fuck_.

He needed a drink.

Existential crises seemed to be Hermione's calling, because here she was, absentmindedly plucking at her ukulele in the sitting room, trying to figure out just _what_ had happened that morning, and _why_ she felt the desire to have it happen again.

Draco had never appeared barer before her. Despite his calm demeanor, he took absolutely nothing for himself, and strictly sought her pleasure. He told her she was all he had, and then he touched her _just like that_. She had never seen a man so eager to please and want absolutely nothing but his name and a promise in return.

Of course, perhaps any other woman might have thought that a man having such control over her body was irksome, but Hermione had to admit: there was an excitement to it that she never thought possible. The mere thought of him wanting to be held responsible for her pleasure was enough to make an uncharacteristic rush of eagerness burst through her. He had given her far more than she expected and had taken far less for himself. She could only imagine what other great lengths he would go to, just to keep her in the throes of that crazed ecstasy.

Then, just as quickly as she'd come, he left her. He hadn't even left in the wake of some angered revelation, or because of a nasty exchange of words or names. She noticed now that he hadn't even used the word _mudblood_ since they left the Manor. No. He just… left. He did not seem displeased, nor calm, just indifferent.

"Ugh," she bit out, running her fingers through her hair in annoyance. She needed to _stop_ thinking about this, but it was a bit difficult, considering the man had left, and had been gone all day. Normally, she would have considered his absence a blessing, but now, his field trips were beginning to make her _worry_.

She adjusted the ukulele in her hands, deciding to pluck a few familiar chords. There were a few songs that she had forgotten how to play, and she had spent most of the day re-familiarizing herself with them between bouts of tea and reading.

 _Ba-da-dum dum, ba-da-dum dum, ba-da-dum dum, ba-da-dum dum_ …

Hermione paused for a moment, thinking that she might have heard something stir in the house. When she found nothing to greet her, she dismissed it as Pips, and took up the melody again from the beginning. The second round made her smile, leading into a tune that reminded her of her days at the cottage belonging to her parents, where her mother would serenade her father with her own instrument. It was the first song Hermione had ever heard on the ukulele, and the first song she found herself eager to learn. Her mother had taught her with a bright smile on her face, lighting up when Hermione caught onto the rhythm and sang softly, just as she was now.

" _Moon River, wider than a mile. I'm crossing you in style someday…_ "

Draco stalled at the front door, catching himself as he kicked off his shoes. He didn't feel like wearing them in the house tonight. In the midst of his half-drunken stupor, he stumbled, finding an unfamiliar tune summoning him from the shadowy depths of his mind. He glanced ahead, trying not to make a single sound as he traveled forward at a turtle's pace, following the soft voice that carried on the air.

" _Oh, dream-maker, you heartbreaker, wherever you're going, I'm going your way…_ "

She had her eyes closed, just like she did that morning, but something was different. As he approached, silent as death, he saw no crease of stress in her brow. There was no tenseness in her shoulders, no choke in her throat, and no tremble in her hands as she eased from one small chord to another. The melody she played pulled a small, serene smile at the corners of her mouth as she sang, light and airy, completely unaware of his presence. Unable to find the urge to interrupt, Draco eased his shoulder against the frame of the entrance to the sitting room.

" _Two drifters, off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see…_ "

By now, his head had tilted, his expression undetermined, but hardly on the cusp of any judgment. His arms were folded over his chest, in which he felt a tightening that he found horribly unfamiliar. Her eyes were still serenely closed. An elysian smile sat upon her lips as they wrapped around every word, as though it were some precious hymn; a testament to better days.

 _Beautiful_.

" _We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend. My Huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me…_ "

He watched her smile as she pulled the song to a close with a soft G. Her eyes were gentle as they blinked open, now staring down at the strange instrument in her hands as though she had accomplished something truly cathartic. He felt himself smirk as her head raised and she jumped, letting out a noise of surprise when she saw him standing in the doorway.

"Jeez, Malfoy, you scared the hell out of me!"

Draco pushed himself from the entrance and merged calmly into the sitting room. One hand slipped into his pocket and he used the other to motion to her instrument.

"That the thing Astoria got for you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a _ukulele_. And yes, Astoria got it for me."

He considered it with a raised brow, and she watched him. He looked like he was contemplating his options. He also looked a bit disheveled. He swayed lightly on his spot, then made his way to the couch beside her, taking up the other end. She caught the faintest whiff of whiskey, drawing to the conclusion that he was probably inebriated, though not to the point of blindly mauling her.

She hated feeling both disappointed and relieved by that fact.

Draco settled in, throwing an arm over the end of the couch and the other over the back. He was facing her, looking expectant.

"Well?" He drawled.

Hermione scrunched up her face in confusion. He motioned haphazardly to the ukulele.

"Play something else."

She faltered, hardly anticipating that she would be playing in front of a live audience… again.

"Oh. I… well, I haven't played in quite some time—"

"Seemed to know your way around it a minute ago."

"Yes, you caught me playing the one song I can't seem to forget," she lied, which he saw right through.

"Oh, come on, Granger," Draco sighed out, exasperated already. "You remember everything. Besides, what's the point in getting nervous about playing around me? Odds are good I'm gonna _scare the hell out of you_ more than once when you're all caught up in the moment like that."

He watched a blush hit her cheeks and knew that he'd won the argument.

"Fine," she grumbled, turning briefly back to her instrument before she whipped around and pointed at him again. "But I want _no_ snide comments about my playing. I'm just re-familiarizing myself with it. If I mess up, I mess up."

Draco rolled his eyes, then raised his hands in surrender.

For most of the songs she played, there was a period beforehand in which she would quickly run through the chords before attempting the song in full. She went for the easiest one first – the rendition of "La Vie En Rose" that she had played for Astoria.

Eventually, she had stopped shaking, focusing more on re-learning the chords and enjoying the music. She went through "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer, and "Vienna" by Billy Joel. She slightly botched "Half the World Away" but forced herself to pick up at the beginning. Her second time through was much better.

Draco withheld all comments, bad or good, and merely remained silent as she played through her nervousness. The first few times she finished a song, she would glance over to him. He would do nothing more than meet her eyes and make a roundabout motion with his hand, encouraging her to play another. She would. She moved onto everything else she knew, which was a limited list: "Rhiannon" and "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac, "Raglan Road", and "Crystal" by Stevie Nicks. The only request Draco made was to hear "Moon River" one more time, although Hermione found that he mumbled the request and was now close to falling asleep in his spot.

When she had finished the second round of "Moon River", she glanced over to find the blonde devil asleep. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and she found herself unable to abide that.

Silently, Hermione pushed herself up from the couch and set her ukulele back in its case. She ignored the ache in the tips of her fingers on her left hand. Callouses would come eventually. Even her palm was cramping from pressing so hard on the frets. She worked out the kinks as she zipped up the case and crossed the threshold of the couch back to Malfoy.

"Hey… Malfoy," she reached out to poke his chest. He didn't budge. She pressed her palm to where she poked, giving him a gentle shake. He roused with a minor start, looking over at her, confused. "You fell asleep. I think it's time for bed."

He nodded, pushing himself off the couch with a little difficulty. When he swayed, she put her hands out to steady him, grabbing his arms. She was surprised he was close to toppling over, considering he was holding himself upright when he first walked in. Surely, the drink hadn't gotten to him that much?

"Have you eaten anything besides breakfast?" She asked, tilting her head up at him.

He clenched his jaw. "Don't worry about it, Granger."

He would have pushed past her, but he nearly lost his footing. Shock riddled him when he found her looping his arm around her petit shoulders and had even looked down at her in confusion to ensure that his mind hadn't tricked him. She looked so small, and here she was, trying to make sure _his_ towering mass didn't fall over.

With a huff of amusement, he pushed on towards the stairs, and she kept him steady.

The journey to his bedroom was shorter than expected, with Draco's mind reeling the entire way. She had sung for him in more ways than one today, and now she was helping him get to his bed without incident. Despite his natural, unkind nature, he found himself feeling incredibly foolish.

Truth be told, the reason he had swooned when he first got up was because of a head rush. The reason he tripped over himself was because of one of his legs falling asleep. So, when he reached the door of his room, he was, for the most part, functional. Still, he milked the attention for all it was worth, letting her guide him to the bed, where he sank down into the covers, welcoming the warmth.

She stood at the edge of the bed, unsure of herself. Perhaps it was better to just leave.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," Hermione murmured.

He caught her wrist as she turned away, making her whip back to look at him with wide eyes.

"Stay with me."

"… What?"

"Stay with me tonight," he encouraged.

Hermione shook her head. "I—I don't think that's a good—"

"Granger. Of course it's not a good idea," Draco said, sitting up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking up at her as he drew her in by her arm. His palms met her hips and she stiffened, but her hands rested over his wrists in the gentlest way that made him hungry. "But that doesn't mean it's a bad one, either."

"Malfoy…" she trailed, worrying her lower lip as she tried to find her words. "This morning… what happened between us… I'm alright with that. I sort of have to make peace with wanting you. But… at the same time, I just know I'm not ready for something like _this_ just yet. I wasn't even sure I was ready for what happened this morning, and… and you got nothing out of that."

Draco tilted his head, flabbergasted. "Granger—"

"It's alright. I know that because of our circumstances, one day, something like this will be inevitable. I'm also not really saying I'm dreading it. I just know that today is not that day."

He drew in a deep breath, holding it, along with whatever argument he had cooked up. When he sighed it all out, he nodded curtly in response, and released her hips, though the more selfish part of him allowed his fingers to graze her legs before falling away entirely.

Then, she stumped him further.

Draco was surprised to find her leaning over at the waist and dropped his gaze as her lips touched gently to his cheek. He had her in his sights again when she pulled away.

"Goodnight."

He nodded again, and she left, and he _let her_.


End file.
